Blessay from America

The Mechanic

2012-02-08T13:39:00.001-05:00

Like a virulent, dormant disease, mechanical troubles stalk me and strike out both when I least suspect it and when I am at my most vulnerable.

It started small. I was playing with Vince on the driveway with his great new remote control monster truck that he got for Christmas from my parents. We got bored of having go up and down the drive, round and around so we started doing boy things with it. Making it drive along the top of the hedge before crashing off into the fallen leaves and soil below to the cries of the crowd (still Vince). We set up a ramp using some old cardboard boxes and tins of disused paint we found in the garage and had it perform death-defying feats like leaping over our legs. Everything was going swimmingly until I took a corner too sharply, the truck rolled several times and in the ensuing carnage the right passenger side wheel came off.

Vince accepts such accidents as a part of life and merrily moved onto his next toy so it was left to me to get upset and pouty for him. I stomped into the garage and broke out my toolbox looking for the right combination of instruments that would help me effect some sort of functioning repair. The toolbox is a relic from England, full of various bits and bobs I've acquired over the years but had a pretty solid base level of equipment, due to a hideous practical joke played on me by a former girlfriend and her family where they all gave me different tools one christmas instead of presents. Designed to highlight my distinct lack of handiness, and possibly manliness, but I did end up with reasonable working assortment out of it so it's an ill wind etc.

I managed to removed the sheered screwbit from the wheel and attach a larger screw to the body of the truck so it wobbled around like a runner with a prosthetic leg three inches longer than the other. Eventually we removed it and the truck works just as well on three wheels as one.

If only regular sized cars were just as pliable. A regulation oil change for the Honda yesterday, a replacement air filter for the Volvo earlier in the week reminded me of the fragile nature of our relationship with our metal friends. Like aging, ultimately you reach a peak when they are past their prime and all you are doing is managing the decline in such as way to keep the pain (in your wallet) to a minimum and give them some purpose in the remaining days they have left. That said, in the current albeit slowly improving economy, this is still rural North Georgia so you will often see vehicles that could rightly be classified as 'undead' rattling about on the country tracks and potholed highways of I75 and I85. Windscreens so smashed and grimy that it is only the stubborn cracks that are holding them together; rusty tailgates, more holey and flimsy than a pair of victorian undergarments, off-road suspensions whose main safety feature is that at least you'lll take your passengers out with you - if there is a purgatory for vehicles in between their heaven and hell then it surely must be Arnold Mill Road between Woodstock and Alpharetta

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Despite working in a car dealership for six months after we arrived here, I feel as welcome and at home in a garage as Donald Trump would in a Kibbutz. It's just not me. And coming from a line of engineers and tinkerers, and being a Teessider - one of the most prodigious engineering and artisan Diasporas in the world, the shame is particularly heartfelt and hard felt. Fortunately I also possess every other Teessiders sense of victimisation and resilience so I will plough blindly on to make a mess of whatever practical project has fallen on me, then decry the inevitable results with a well-worn litany of excuse, conspiracy theory and evasion.

In the same way that certain footballers just don't fit in with their new clubs despite having all the attributes required to be successful - Torres at Chelsea, Carroll at Liverpool, any Manchester United goalkeeper not named Schmeichel or Van Der Saar in the past 30 years - me and mechanical moving parts just aren't going to mesh, and as I will proudly state at the first meeting of my new support group for similarly mechanically encumbered and deficient men, "My name is Guy and no, I can't mend a fuse".

Farewell Bob

2012-01-26T11:44:00.003-05:00

When I said it was all quiet on the Southern Front, that's not entirely true. We've got the first punches thrown in the Republican Presidential Nominee race (more on that later); the Superbowl coming up but sad news from Woodstock - unofficial town mascot Bob The Turkey went to the great free-range pasture in the sky.

All Quiet on the Southern Front

2012-01-25T22:31:00.003-05:00

Felt like a false start didn't it? The year of 2012 that is. We all raced back from work and holidays back into our homes and work and then what? Nothing has really caught fire yet - it's like when you have been sat on a particularly comfy couch for a couple of hours, you get up to get a snack and you find your leg has gone to sleep. It takes about five minutes for you to get your feeling back and learn how to walk again.

Trust me, I know whereof I speak here. So it is with the year itself. We are working hard, getting on, Vince is picking up every little illness going but it only now, with the advent of the Chinese Year of the Water Dragon on Monday that it feels like the year has decided to arrive in Ernest.

I have some very exciting news to impart very soon, cannot say enough just yet but it will be worth it - especially for readers of Blessay. Let's just say that I am very close to finally doing something. Something worthwhile.

Watch The Skies...

Home From The Holidays

2012-01-03T17:01:00.000-05:00

So here we are again - our annual trip home to the motherland to see family, friends and assorted well-wishers. We timed our trip a lot better this year to avoid the jet-lag and last-minute rushing we had last time when we arrived on the 23rd, so had a whole week to acclimatise and get over jet-lag. At least that was the plan.

We got to Atlanta airport in good time and got onto the plane ok, so far so good - a KLM flight to Amsterdam, followed by a one hour hop to Teesside*.

* - It will be a cold day before I refer to it as anything but Teesside Airport.

Sadly this is where my luck ran out temporarily. We had a row of four seats with Stacey by the aisle, Vince, me and what looked like an escapee from ‘World of Warcraft’ to my left. I’ve always been a live and let live kind of guy but after spending the best part of nine hours next to El Slobbo, I am all turned around on the topic. Never mind charging the morbidly obese extra for their seats, they should really have their own aircraft, sponsored by Burger King, to take them wherever they want to go. This might sound a tad harsh but his girth spilled into my own personal space and seat early, and as well as the pungent odor of a professional eater, he also brought his own Whopper onto the plane because he didn’t want to be dangerously malnourished during the flight. I turned away to my right and tried to get what little sleep I could, balancing the pillow on the raised armrest, jamming it into my eye socket to get some purchase whilst maintaining an unnatural posture because if my backside moved one millimeter towards the remote control housed in the left armrest then the seatrest TV would come on, or even worse, the reading light above my head. It was like taking a flight on Saw Airways.

We had a quick stopover in Amsterdam, ironically the city Stacey and I most want to visit in Europe sans Vincent, before arriving back at Teesside tired but happy to see my family who came out to meet us in great numbers. It had been a year since we had last said goodbye at Darlington Station so despite speaking regularly, it’s always nice to hug. Especially for Vince.

Two things lept out at me straight away during the next few days as we rediscovered England, my England. How narrow the roads seemed - a symptom of the wide Atlanta highways accommodating the even-wider pickups; and how there seemed to be so many houses up for sale, pretty much everywhere we went.

Our itinerary would rival a dignitaries for complexity and demands on our time. Like minor royals, everybody was determined to come and see us, or us them. We averaged a visit a day so apologies if we didn’t get to see you this time around - please submit a request for the 2012 tour and our people will see what they can do.

Prices seemed to have gone up a little since last time but merciful the shopping experience hasn’t changed. Stacey likes shopping in the North because “the women make an effort and are happy to chat with you when you’re buying something”. I concur.

Because we didn’t suffer a snowpocalypse this year, I was able to travel down to Oxford to meet up with my old mates and had a nostalgic night out back in the old city. It’s a peculiarly British thing that even though the first stop on the trains journey was Darlington, it was already 10 minutes later when I got on. I was unable to reserve a seat so had to spend most of the journey perched precariously on a heater in the bike rack, reading a paper version of The Guardian with one hand and trying to eat my sandwich with the other. Essentially Oxford is the same place but everyone now has kids, greyer hairs but seem more content, if not happier. A very agreeable sight at Christmas.

Christmas Day itself was a blur, especially for Vincent who was delighted to get a couple of tractors and a new Cars 2 racing car in his first two presents. He would have played with them before my dad pointed out the mountain of presents piled up on the couch behind him! It’s worth a years wait to hear his surprise and delighted squeal. We gave and received some nice presents ourselves and spent the rest of the day eating and trying to solve the centuries-old riddles that masquerade as toy instructions.

Boxing Day was a more authentic experience for yours truly as my cousins and their families arrived and the men were able to take themselves off to the match. Middlesbrough have been performing over and above themselves this year which puts me in the dangerous position of starting to believe that they might get promoted. When you don’t quite believe then every win is a delight and every defeat is a minor setback, as opposed to the end of the world. Now the situations are reversed. Like Oxford, not much has changed in the old town, some new houses have gone up near the Riverside Stadium but the pre-match routine of pub and pint remains unaltered. We go to the Lord Byron, the oldest documented pub in the town, and home to a fantastic piece of street art opposite to instill pride in the home partisans and a sliver of doubt into visitors that they are somewhere outside of their comfort zone, somewhere they might not quite understand and will do well to respect the customs and mores of the inhabitants during their brief stay. The jazz singer George Mellie referred to Middlesbrough as a ‘city of intrigue and sudden death’, which suggest he had a drink in The Bridge pub next door to the Lord Byron at some stage.

The match was a tight knit affair with near rivals in distance and league position, Hull City. Settled with a dream match-winning 30 yarder from Barry Robson two minutes from time to send every Teessider home happy. The evening saw us in Stockton for a reunion of The Waterfront, the iconoclastic club which is now occupied by a below-par italian restaurant which gives its premises over once a year to the returning, older, if not wiser, locals who used to pile downstairs every Friday and Saturday night to sway around to the Stone Roses and The Smiths.

It was with a heavy heart we flew out of Teesside on the day before New Years eve bound for Amsterdam and beyond it Atlanta. It is always nice to see the sun again, but your thoughts inevitably turn to the ones you leave behind.

2011 was a good year, our best year in the States and 2012 promises to be even better yet. It would certainly be that if more people could share it with us.

Homeward Bound

2011-12-15T16:43:00.000-05:00

Work is truly winding down now. We are heading home for the Holidays, back to England after another year away and I'm truly looking forward to it.

Posting will be intermittent of course, but will fill you in on my thoughts and events in good time.

Vince has enjoyed driving around Woodstock at night looking at all the Blackpoolesque lights around the place and in between repeated viewings of Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer and The Grinch Who Stole Christmas is really looking forward to the trip and seeing his Nana and Papa again very soon.

We're both looking forward to being able to get out and about and do a lot more stuff than the previous two years when weather has held us captive like a couple of prisoners in the Siberian Gulag. Despite a storm raging over England as I write, weather should have settled down enough by the time we land on Saturday morning.

But what kind of a country am I returning to? Riots, political instability, austerity - as Sir Danny Baker himself wrote back in July, this year's News Review will be a cracker.

Oh well - Happy Holidays to you and yours for now and the next missive will be from the motherland itself.

Oh, and here's a little something for the kids while we're at it...

Tori Amos, Islam & The United Federation of Planets

2011-11-30T12:03:00.001-05:00

Thanksgiving has come and gone, thankfully although we had a really good time this year although Stace is getting over a persistent bout of both flu and sinusitis. More excitingly, we got out to see our first concert in many years last night when we saw Tori Amos at the Cobb Energy Center.

The last concert Stace and I went to was Morrissey, live at Earls Court, in a performance that was later immortalised on a CD so we could relive it without the cramped tube trip, cold weather and five pound pints that are de rigor in the average concert trip to London.

I've liked Tori Amos since the 90s but this is the first opportunity I've had to see her live. Stacey is a lot more committed than I, knows her work intimately and can play a large selection of it on the piano but I like to think of myself as a fair weather friend. None of the people who I mentioned the show too knew who she was but this is understandable, just another sign of getting old I thought, especially when the prospective baby sitter asked "What's Tori Amos?"

The trouble with Tori Amos fans, and Morrissey fans, radical Islam and Star Trek fans, the first groups that sprung to mind, is that a loud and vocal minority taint and spoil it for the majority with their unreasonable and just uncool behaviour. Star Trek is the ideal test case. I love the original series, subsequent series, movies etc, but I daren't mention this in polite society in case everybody think I spend my time at home in a custom-built replica of the bridge of the Enterprise, in a Star Fleet uniform wearing prosthetic ears. Like the guy in this story, although the key phrase is 'After she left him'.

Tori fans are similar in their dedication and devotion to the cause. Stace has seen her over 30 times live but doesn't feel the need to broadcast or advertise the fact. Not so Cyndi. Cyndi was sat in front of us in our admittedly nice seats and within a minute of sitting down had already told us how she had met Tori before the show, how she had spent $65 on merchandise already and how she loves Michael Jackson but loves Tori more and told her that she really needed to cover 'Strange in Moscow' next time, and she would bring a copy for Tori to listen to so she knew it. Cyndi was 30, weighed half that in stone, and was a well of bubbling enthusiasm which anywhere else would have been a joy to behold. It turned into a bloody annoyance. Her friend/minder Em sat in front of us, silent for the whole show (thankfully as it turned out) reading a Wizard of Oz book but as you can see, she kept her eye on us throughout.

We were joined by a couple of women in their early 30s, more tattoos down their arm than Popeye, slurping copiously from their plastic wine cups. This was obviously housewives night out, although judging from their later behaviour, this may have been the first actual concert either of them had been too. The support act was a Norwegian folk singer, not as ghastly as it sounds, but it was ruined by Cyndi and friends thinking they were at Saturday Night at the Apollo and yelling out the first thing that came to mind. This was preferable to the incessant SCREEEEEEAMING that caused me and Stace to switch seats both to protect her hearing and the hearing of the screaming woman lest she lose it when a Volvo S40 ignition key got rammed into it forcibly. To quote my good friend Harry Pearson, these women put on such a concentrated display of idiocy and annoyance in the subsequent 90 minutes that I thought they were employed as some kind of National Lampoon's Heritage Trail.

It's a sign of the change in society, as well as concert going that during a show, half the people who have paid a lot of money to see the artist spend it starring at their phones, texting/tweeting away or filming the person performing live mere feet in front of them. Give me a lighter any day, at least I could have used it to deter Cyndi from jumping up and down and punching the air every 10 seconds like she was watching the Kentucky Derby, or from conducting when Tori went into a Classical diversion..

I'm glad I went with a big Tori fan like Stace because I didn't hear the first 45 seconds of any of the songs thanks to the SCREEEEEAMING women, who got so emotional at the sight of their heroine that they actually burst into tears twice during the show, and judging from the occasional smell I caught wafting from their direction along with wine and bitter defeat, we're really enjoying themselves. At least it was a change from dope and that horrible, lilac purple stank that a lot of her fans wear which took me back to shops like Guru Boutique in Darlington which sold ethnic hats, tie-dye t-shirts and funny looking vases - or what I thought at the time were vases. You don't get this at other cultural events do you? Pavarotti never had to put up with aggressive Opera Hooligans shouting "Sonatta in F Flat!"

It was great to get out and do normal people things again but gigs on a school night aren't such a good idea. Next time we might go to see someone with slightly quieter and less fanatical fans. Someone like her.

The Curse of Comptence

2011-11-17T21:12:00.001-05:00

A new job follows the usual patterns whether its mundane and functional, like Toyota, or spectacular and brilliant, like my new one. You start to put names to faces, go to meetings, a lot of meetings in KSU's case - seriously, I've been to more meetings in the past six weeks than I did in the previous six months - make friends, pick up projects and generally start to make your mark in certain areas.

Our Facebook and Twitter feeds are starting to take off, having a large captive audience helps, but there are some tried and trusted methods that can be employed with relative success, which is what we are seeing.

One of the things I'm a little uneasy with is the terminology. Three or four times this week I've been introduced to new people by enthusiastic and well-meaning people as the 'Social Media Guru'. The first thing that leaps to mind is Peter Drucker's assertion that Guru is a word for people who can't spell Charlatan. This is even more grounded in truth when I try and describe what it is that I do to non-social media active or aware people. They know it's something to do with computers so I just leave it at that.

There is also the designation of expert itself - what makes one an unimpeachable authority on a topic? In Outliers, Malcolm Gladwell hypothesises that it takes 10,000 hours to become an expert in a topic. That's approx. five years of work, if you were doing it nine to five. That's about how long I've been working on Social Media, although only exclusively for the past two years.

Would I say I was an expert? It all depends. Compared to people like Gary Vaynerchuk and Guy Kawasaki, maybe not but compared to Bert Smith who runs the local Goin' Postal franchise then yes. I know my way around the main social media networks (Facebook and Twitter) intimately and am across the emerging networks (Google+, LinkedIn, FourSquare, Stumbleupon) fairly thoroughly too. If forced to quantify any qualities I may have then I would say that I do possess the rare gift of being able to translate technese into English and let people understand, in plain language, what Facebook and Twitter are, and how they can use them to maximum advantage.

Ultimately that's how you prove your worth to an organisation or an individual, if you can help them understand what they previously didn't and how they can improve then yes, you have done your job and can claim to be an expert. If you just sit there and reel off a bunch of odd-sounding websites and throw words like 'Gamification', 'Content Curation' and 'Viral' without any context then congratulations, you truly are a Guru!

Running Down the Clocks

2011-11-07T21:54:00.000-05:00

Halloween has come and gone again in North Georgia. It was a strange one this year, decorations were out but not in as much glory as previous years. Even Stacey sensed the change in the air, maybe a sign of the times. Vince was still alternatively delighted and horrified by the various macabre decorations and masks. This year he went as David Beckham, which was handy as we already had the kit. He is recovering from pinkeye and joint nose/ear infections so could also have gone as Zombie Beckham with a minimum of fuss but we played it straight.

Cute is his default position and when the adults who answered the doors asked if he'd come as a soccer player he was adamant: "No! I'm David Beckham!". He was more independent this year and insisted that I remain at the bottom of the driveway while he went to the door to shout 'Trick or Treat!'. Unfortunately his wee hands can't carry much candy so we didn't get a great haul this year. Due to his dairy allergies we have to eat his candy for him, it's been four years but finally parenthood is paying off.

Well anyway, the older kids with cars and a minimum of costume creativity "we're high school students" "I can see that, what have you come as?" "high school students" - came by and we ended up having a net loss of candy, although we did manage to unload the Butterfingers that nobody except addicts eat.

The year is moving on with Thanksgiving the next holiday in our sights. It is getting colder by the day and we are enjoying multiple glorious displays of colour from the trees perched high on the hills and mountains around us. The wasps are coming out onto the streets to die so one has to be particularly careful where one is running, especially in shorts.

The end of the year is in sight now and a last burst of effort and creativity will take us into the party season in December although our neighbours at the back have already got a fully furnished Christmas Tree up in their room which is a little much even for a certified Christmas Kid like myself. Wal-Mart I can understand, they've got stuff to shift but everyone else should hold their horses until at least Thanksgiving Night.

Visiting Time

2011-10-25T22:48:00.001-04:00

Bus weekend. In you wait ages for a big exciting thing to happen then two turn up at once.

Firstly, I kicked a ball in anger for the first time in five months on Friday Night. I joined a six-a-side league along with some other British lads and had a thoroughly great time. Yes we lost, yes I felt the pace a little and yes I had a hard time remembering my team-mates names but saw some other familiar faces at the venue from the Sunday League I used to play in so it felt quite familiar all over. Good to be back in the swing again although another pair of indoor trainers will have to be bought in the near future to prevent me slipping and sliding like a drunken penguin.

It's only taken two years and ten months but we've finally had visitors from England. My best childhood friend, Chris, came down for a 24 hour pop-in via Cambridge, Mass, but it was still wonderful to see him.

Stacey and Vincent enjoyed having somebody new to listen to apart from my rotten old stories, and it was great to take somebody around the place and showing them parts of America slightly off the tourist track. Remarkably little reminiscing was done beyond the usual, the conversation bobbed around parenthood, work and the craft beer situation in Northern Georgia. He was also quick to brandish the proverbial yellow card for various verbal transgressions I performed including pants for trousers; candy for sweets and Zee for Zed. At least I hadn't gone so far as the nice couple we met on Saturday night. Originally from Huddersfield, they still had the sharp vowels of the West Riding but had picked up the annoying transatlantic habit of swapping T's for D's. This would make him Briddish. Chris also got to see at first hand the dangerous, outrageous blood sport that is driving around Atlanta.

We also shared some full and frank home truths as only old friends can which was also well appreciated. Sometimes you do need a well-intentioned guide to point out which is wood and which are trees.

I was sorry to see him go; it's nice to have company, albeit briefly and with luck, we'll meet up again back in the old country in December. Chris-mass indeed.

Back To School

2011-10-19T23:01:00.005-04:00

I am now in my second week as Social Media Specialist at Kennesaw State University, 15 miles Northwest of Atlanta.

It's unusual being back on campus - I spent three years at The Open University, Britain's largest distance learning institution - but that in itself was quite unusual as they only had a handful of graduate students on the campus full time. KSU is a fully fledged university with freshmen, sophomores, juniors and seniors all looking terribly younger, shinier and happier than I dared imagine.

I would like to think that I am settling in well enough, I am definitely enjoying myself. It's a nice feeling to be wanted and from my first minutes on campus, I have been greeted warmly and professionally without exception. This is a bit of a departure. It's not that people weren't happy to see me at RE/MAX - when I delivered my presentations, every Agent I met was a willing learner and happy that somebody had taken the time to come from HQ to see them but, how can I put this best, Realtors can be a little bit, how you say, disgruntled. Sure the market isn't quite what it was, and may not be for another year or more, but you couldn't escape the projection of negativity even if it wasn't directed at you.

It also brings with it the burden of new expectations and energies. I am fortunate enough to be in an area now that has 100% of my attention and excitement and have a free reign to influence and advise on development and future direction - how can you not be excited by that level of trust and responsibility?

KSU has a an optimistic energy that swells around the place and its nice to be able to share in it. I also have all the other challenges of moving jobs - signing up for benefits and systems again; learning the names of all my new co-workers, navigating the large campus. One of the most useful aids in my welcome pack was a pocket map, including shuttle bus routes between the many sites KSU occupies.

Kennesaw State is a university on the rise. Already the 3rd biggest in the state of Georgia, research and awards are coming in left, right and center. This being the South of America, a Football program is underway so they will have a fully fledged system ready for the start of the 2014 season and with it all the extra funding and prestige that comes with a big-boy sport.

The Owls are waking up, the black and gold uniforms and helmets are being polished and you cannot escape the feeling that a tidal wave is swelling just under the surface, ready to break and take the surfers to shore.

Let's Ride...

Moving on Up, Moving on Out

2011-10-02T17:18:00.001-04:00

I've got another job.

I had enjoyed ploughing my social media lined furrow at RE/MAX well enough but change is a constant of life and the latest round was more revolution than evolution and left me feeling like I was wearing a huge powdered wig and velvet pantaloons on Bastille Day - not a healthy position to be in. Especially under Georgia's bidness friendly "right to work" laws (more accurately titled "right to get yo ass fired with a minimum of fuss".

I used to get the tube in London so I'm used to reading the writing on the walls and dechiphering it and all signs pointed towards EXIT. I applied for the job with Kennesaw State University a few weeks ago and thought nothing more of it until asked to attend an interview about three weeks back. I dud sufficiently well to gain a second interview which went suspiciously well. The only interview I've ever had where I've been applauded at the end of my presentation.

Time moves quick here. Two weeks notice in, last day on Friday, surprisingly sanguine reaction from current work. I wasn't expecting mass wailing and rending of garments but a little more than a handshake and a "good luck" would have been nice. Workmates sadder to see me leave, looking the same way pets peek out of vets cages with "take me with you!" Written on their little faces.

Work has been that strange validictory farewell tour since, we even had the compulsory field day last week, where we ate cook out in close proximity to a wasps nest, took part in various sporting feats like egg and spoon and three legged race and in an odd flourish, got to dunk senior managers in a watertank.

So as Fall arrives in Ernest, leaves change colour and begin to drop along with the thermometer, my final week of 20 months in corporate America begins.

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Don't look now - The only thing holding yesterday together is your memories

2011-09-22T23:09:00.002-04:00

I spent an interesting lunch hour earlier this week visiting my previous work place, my first workplace in America - Nalley Toyota in Roswell. They had closed and moved to a new location but I wanted to stroll around the place for old times sake and for other reasons which will become apparent in the near future...

The scene that greeted me was both depressing and irresistible at once; like working there come to think of it. Some vandals had been in and had their way with the place leaving several large holes in the glass doors and windows allowing easy access to the intrepid photographer and explorer.

I think it's an interesting metaphor - obviously you can put your own interpretations on it - the economy, America's future, your past - but in beauty and ugliness there is both ugliness and beauty. Everything is what you make it. Another metaphor.

Fall arrives, Guy Arises

2011-09-18T20:24:00.002-04:00

"But then Fall comes, kicking summer out on its treacherous ass as it always does one day sometimes after the midpoint of September, it stays awhile like an old friend that you have missed. It settles in a way an old friend will settle into your favourite chair and take out his pipe and light it then fill the afternoon with stories of places he has been and has done since he last saw you" - Salem's Lot; Stephen King.

Sometimes it is enough to recognize that you don't have the requisite tools to do a specific job so I am quite happy to borrow from the master here and let you know that Autumn is finally here in Northern Georgia. It's taken its own sweet time but each Saturday might be the last you wear shorts and sandals along with a worn Boro t-shirt while prowling the lanes at the local park before swapping them out for jeans and black jumper which will stay until February.

Lots have been going on recently, some of which I can't tell you about just yet but it will be worth the wait when I hopefully can soon. Nothing bad, all good btw.

Instead I will concentrate on the really nice family weekend we've just enjoyed.

A nice relaxing weekend in all, Boro won on Saturday to go top of the Championship; Vin was in a good mood all weekend and we went up to Canton to visit a local county fair ahead of the bigger Cobb one that begins next weekend. That's one thing about living here - weather bad or good, there is always something to do or somewhere to go on a weekend. Couldn't always say that about Bicester or Boro.

Vin restaged 'Easy Rider' below for your delectation and it might be prescient because as its half term week here, he will be driving Stacey up the wall before weeks end.

Signing off now to catch Falcons v Eagles on TV and while primarily hoping the Falcons win, watching that dog-stranglin' dope-smokin' work-doggin' POS get smashed from every angle will be as entertaining a close to the weekend as I can think of.

Hey, I'm not a saint (New Orleans or otherwise) and whilst I endeavour to be the best man I can, is it wrong to take pleasure in seeing a bad man get hurt?

9/11 - The worst British loss of life in a terrorist incident

2011-09-11T14:49:00.003-04:00

Nothing I can really add to everything that is being said and done today except to point out to any naysayers or tutters back home that at 66, 9/11 is also the worst British loss of life in a terrorist incident.

Think on that before tutting and thinking about over-the-top sentimentality or mawkishness.

There is a time to look back at the responses, mistakes and errors of the previous 10 years - and there have been lots, some honest, some egregious, but it's not today.

Judge Dread

2011-09-05T13:55:00.000-04:00

It's with some interest that I note David Cameron's latest plans to introduce sentencing footage from British courts into the broadcast ecosystem. Over here, court footage is free and easily available and the idea of restricting it would be challenged almost immediately under the First Ammendment as an affront to freedom of expression.

Of course, not every aspect of the trial is televised for obvious reasons - witnesses and testimony for example but sentencing and key elements of the trial are made freely made available to the news networks. You have a seperate sub-strata of shows now dedicated to ongoing cases and legal opinions, the most forthright of which is hosted by former prosecutor Nancy Grace. Grace herself is a black-hearted witch, never happier when pontificating like Soloman on the personal lives, assumed and guessed motives of those involved with ongoing trials that she takes an interest in.

Most recently, her reaction to the news of the Casey Anthony verdict was something special, even by her standards, and would be unthinkable to be broadcast in Britain with our still-relevant sub-judice laws - that is that what you can say whilst a trial is ongoing is very strictly limited to certain details such as the accused name, address and details of the charges only. In the US, pretty much anything goes and anything and everything can and is reported on nightly while the trial is ongoing - previous records, speculation on the evidence, gossip about the witnesses and investigators - under British law practically every trial covered in the US would be at risk of a mistrial because of the constant and overwhelming flood of information, conjecture and hearsay about it.

Of course, now justice has become just another branch of the entertainment industry here, so the judges themselves are becoming celebritites. Grace is appearing on the next season of 'Dancing With The Stars' and judges preciding over civil cases do so in their own courts/tv studios and the whole process itself is turned into reality TV drama. Judge Judy was the first but a whole range of simliar shows - Judge Hatchett, Judge Alex, Judge Joe Brown, Divorce Court with Judge Toller and my personal favourite - Judge Mathis.

Greg Mathis is something of a unique story, a former street kid and low-level drug runner, he served some time in a juvenile correction facility before turning to the law on his release and rising through the ranks to becoming a circuit judge in his native Chicago. His easy charisma and no-nonsense manner with the increasingly range of ridiculous cases brought before him make it compelling viewing.

"I don't know nothin' about gangbangin. Do I look like a gangbanger to you?"
"Yeah".

They've even started doing paternity tests on the show now so it's only a matter of time before we see pro-celebrity justice shows where famous people try their hand at the law - or even better represent themselves after they are lifted on a drugs charge. It's a long way arriving back at school 10 minutes late because I caught the end of 'Crown Court' on verdict day...

Armadillos and Self-Regarding Nonsense

2011-09-01T11:25:00.000-04:00

To the Haynes Creek Wildlife Festival on Sunday with Vince for a trip out. This summer has been brutal but it's cruel and unusual to keep a kid inside all the time and we had a good time when we went last year. It is held in Conyers to the East of Atlanta so we have a trip around or through the city in our case to get there.

We arrived early and Vince is always excited to see Police cars and Ambulances but if we wanted to see them we'd have driven to East Point (boom and indeed boom). Early doors these things are unusual, all the attractions and booths are there but with a few staggering attendees like auditionees for 'The Walking Dead' - also filmed nearby in A-Town.

The animals in the esoteric petting zoo where worth the trip however - baby calves, porcupines, a giant rabbit and a tiny pig forming a double act in their own pen; a murderous looking Lemur and a pair of Armadillos which got Vince's attention first. It was good to see some familiar faces from last year - the Native American demonstration and display including a hollowed-out Crocodile skin "he won't bite me, Dada"

The same miserable woman running the bouncy castle from last year ($3 for 5 minutes?!?) and our friends from Cumbria that we ran into last year running the mini train set. It was nice to see them in happier circumstances, last year our very tenure in these United States looked to be in doubt but we are just about on firmer footing right now.

It's the Labor Day Weekend coming up and the official end of summer and beginning of Autumn/Fall so will write more about it after the weekend - which also encompasses Stacey and I's Wedding Anniversary.

To keep you amused in the meantime, here is some of my self-regarding nonsense from other sites. Please give them some love if you are minded:

http://www.yanksarecoming.com/epl-in-focus-wenger-responds-to-manchester-massacre-but-is-damage-already-done

http://woodstock.patch.com/blog_posts/welcome-to-woodstock-again

http://boro.theoffside.com/middlesbrough-team-news/new-signing-for-boro-offside-atleast.html

http://boro.theoffside.com/middlesbrough-team-news/great-expectations.html#comments

Have a great Labor Day Weekend and check back next week for the usual mix of cutie pie pictures and withering contemporary social commentary.

Cracking Up

2011-08-28T08:22:00.001-04:00

Apologies for not expanding on last weeks travails but amongst the lessons I'm learning as I acquire more wisdom is don't write angry. I was about to write getting older but confusing age with wisdom is another lesson.

Last week was one of those 'what next'? weeks. I cracked a tooth on a mint so have been sticking to soup and oatmeal until the dentist can see to me then to compound matters, the radiator on our 13 year old Honda cracked on Thursday necessatating a replacement. I find visiting garages more painful than dentists so there is a link between the two.

So much in life is timing, its problematic that both misfortunes occur in rent/bill week but of course, there is no way they would have happened at any other time.

Normal sarcastic service will resume later when I write about our better weekend.

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Over The Cliff (twice)

2011-08-26T09:17:00.000-04:00

An accurate graphical representation of my week so far...

Crossroads

2011-08-21T20:50:00.003-04:00

Several small events have occurred over the past few days which in and of themselves mean little but taken together may or may not mean more. Pieces of a puzzle if you will, or various course corrections of an aircraft flying from one city or another. No plane flies directly from point A to point B but through a myriad of minor adjustments, recalculations and subtle changes of heading, arrives at its destination. I actually overheard that in an interview with a pilot but if there's one thing anybody who dares consider themselves a writer can do is spot a metaphor at 100 paces.

So it was as the week began in the shadows of the Sun. I used to think that bad news and ennui was intensified by rain and storms but I was wrong, it's actually glorious sunshine and cloudless, infinite blue skies that stab at your more - at least when it's raining, everyone can be miserable together. Smiling joggers and cyclists add to the frustration. I talk the usual slings and arrows of fortune and misfortune with the same jaunty indifference as say, the interior minister for Eritrea but occasionally, you just wish you had a break. August being the holiday season and all. I know we had a nice weekend away in Charleston not so long ago but this has just whetted the appetite for a more prolonged period of RnR. Work first however and it's been a case of tail up, head down, plough on.

Vincent is adapting well to his school which is one less problem but its another, albeit essential, expense. It's a subset of Bailey's first law of financials - that available outgoings swell to match incomings at any given point; this one, let's call it Bailey's law 1a - as soon as one bill gets paid, up pops another of equal or slightly greater value. But you didn't come here to listen to me moan - if you did I can direct you to some far meatier survival blogs where people have got some real problems to overcome. Drop 1000 feet, bear West 10 degrees.

Thursday saw an inspiring day when I had front-row and backstage passes with speaker Terry Watson - a high-energy motivator from Chicago. Terry is as generous with his time as he is with his wisdom and we had a nice chat after his high-octane performance to a lucky audience of Georgia Realtors. He gave me one or tips on sharpening my own presenting skills, which are in greater use these days professionally, and we also swapped some social media tips, and he expressed his concern on the health and competence of the Chicago Bears offensive line - although as they are the Falcons first opponents, I was quite happy to hear that they possess more holes than a News International Executive's memory. What was most striking about Terry, was the self-satisfaction that radiates from somebody who is doing something they are genuinely pre-disposed for and are meant to be doing. He loves his work and his work loves him back. A more physical manifestation of the lesson for me was that I used to wear a Rolex knock-off for a couple of years in the last decade. Hey, it was London, I had blonde highlights so fake Roley was the least of my crimes - Terry had the real-deal on his arm, specifically the very model mine was based on. Rise 1000 feet, resume previous course.

You only really notice the demarcation of the chapters of your life in hindsight but I can definitely feel a slight breeze and lightness in the air - like a page beginning to turn. We've been here just over two and a half years now, it really only feels like a couple of months but so many things have happened and changed in this time that it is naive to assume that things wouldn't continue to.

Finally, I need to draw your attention to Ricky Gervais' excellent Huffington Post column. 10 years ago, his under-the-wire sitcom premiered, late in the evening without fanfare on BBC Two. It was called 'The Office'. One lesson I have taken from Ricky is that hard work is the path to wherever it is your going to get too. The past two and a half years here have crystalized this for me so with that, a little Keats to illustrate that as long as you can lift a finger or a breath, that really is the basic building block for success of any kind, shape or form.

When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain,
Before high piled books, in charactry,
Hold like rich garners the full-ripen'd grain;
When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face,
Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,
And think that I may never live to trace
Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;
And when I feel, fair creature of an hour,
That I shall never look upon thee more,
Never have relish in the faery power
Of unreflecting love; -- then on the shore
Of the wide world I stand alone, and think
Till Love and Fame to nothingness do sink.

See you on the next page.

Dental Disgrace

2011-08-15T20:51:00.000-04:00

I went to the dentist today and teeth have been on my mind this weekend. It was a routine check-up which went as well as could be expected. The nurse did a grand job cleaning up, the dentist himself turned up at the end, had a quick gander in my mouth to make sure it's all ok, then off he went to leave he to finish up.

I guess I'm lucky to be able to go - thanks to the 'miracle' of Health Insurance.

In the town where I live this weekend, 1900 people queued up at a local church to have free dental treatment. Nineteen hundred people.

Congratulations to Woodstock First Baptist for organzing this service and I am glad so many needy people have been seen to but what a shocking indictment of the US health system this is.

Enough to set your teeth on edge, but not so much that you can afford to have them put right after.

This isn't the Chav Spring

2011-08-10T10:20:00.000-04:00

So how do I see the riots in the UK from a safe distance?

Unlike Greece and Portugal, these riots aren't in direct response to political action or austerity cuts. They stem from a shooting incident when Mark Duggan was shot by police on Thursday evening in London in the back of a cab after being stopped due to intelligence.

This loving, family man might very well have been a great dad and lover of life. He also was known to Operation Trident, the specific police task force assigned to gun crime in the capital and was in possession of a modified illegal firearm that had been converted to fire live ammo. The fact that he didn't shoot at police is neither here nor there in this writers opinion. The investigation will reveal whether his death was an accident or an execution but suffice to say, you don't want to get shot by police, don't carry a gun.

The response is as depressing as it was predictable. A march to demand justice spilled out onto not one but three nights of rioting throughout London and spread to other major cities on Tuesday and Wednesday evening.

This isn't a Chav Spring - an uprising against authority or the state - it's a bunch of mainly unemployed kids who saw some others having some high-risk, illegal fun and saw the chance to get some free swag and take a swing at a distracted and weakened police force in their own areas. The best tweet I saw was from a bystander in Peckham, South East London who overheard looters in an Iceland shouting 'Don't forget the Fabreze!"

Unlike similar riots in the past such as in Broadwater Farm, London and Toxteth, Liverpool in 1981, these do not have a significant racial or political dimension. The fact that the Government is ploughing ahead with it's near-insane austerity budget when youth unemployment is close to 20% in many of these areas and UK growth is being downgraded by the day, is a reason but not an excuse.

The government's response to the riots so far is as ivory-towered and late as you would expect, David Cameron and Boris Johnston, London Mayor and Eton/Oxford bumchums only deciding to return from their holidays on the third night of rioting - Parliament doesn't even reconvene until tomorrow - and as many commentators will note, look as out of place touring the riot scenes as a penguin would in the Gobi Desert. It's not their manor.

The momentum of the trouble is dying down now, the main looters have got their gear and anyone idiotic enough to try to repeat actions across the UK now the police have regrouped sufficiently will be made an example of in short time but the questions now remain on the response to the trouble. Some will demand some immediate new heavy laws, shutting the stable door firmly but as we saw, the police could not handle the trouble and if enough people decided to break laws en masse, then how can they be contained?

The wider problem is still to be solved - the devil loves idle hands and this week they got a taste of what they can do when they put their minds to it. Shouldn't we be looking at ways to pay them to rebuild and rejuvenate their areas rather than break them down and burn them?

The anemic British Private Sector which Gideon Osbourne has bet the farm on reviving the economy and driving growth was doing a great impression of a frightened snail before London burned. I really can't see it rolling up its sleeves and riding to the rescue now, when it is needed more than ever. And all the while, Canary Wharf sat impassive and watched. The very week they announced they would complete the project with a new skyscraper, I can't think of a better image to celebrate the news than this:

Welcome to Britain - 2011.

Skool Daze

2011-08-09T13:22:00.000-04:00

My earliest memory comes from the Queen’s Silver Jubilee in 1977 when I was four. My cousin Jane (Happy Birthday Jane!) and I entered a fancy dress competition as Noddy and Big Ears. I don’t think we won but I do remember it fairly vividly. Ironically, one of my best friends recounted that he had also dressed as Noddy on this very day many miles away in South Wales, and like me, had been overlooked by the judges so we have uncovered some kind of anti-Blighton faction amongst the great and the good, possibly magistrates and dentists were involved, who knows how high this could go?

Snapping back to reality momentarily, I do wonder what, if anything, Vince is going to remember of his boisterous childhood so far? This weekend was enjoyable enough for him. We went to the Fernbank Museum of Natural History in Atlanta as they were having a Pirates and Princesses day. Scouring Party City for their Pirate accessories was harder than one might think and the only costume they had, a snug Jack Sparrow, all-in-one, was plainly too big for him so Stacey subtly dressed him in a skull and crossbones skater tee and shorts and I gave him some fake gold coins and jewels along with an inflatable sword.

After paying the extorniate $54 entry fee for the three of us, I couldn’t help be underwhelmed by the whole affair. Yes, yes you had various Dinosaur skeletons to gawp at but the actual Pirate activities were moribund IMO. Rolling up a piece of paper that could double as a wand or a sword? Check. Rub on Tattoos? Check. There was a puppet show taking place but this was apparently being held in a broom closet with a capacity of three so we had to wait around for 45 minutes for the next one to start.

An occasionally nervous child, Vince handled the experiences quite well, dying to duel some of the other pirates with is swords, and he was sufficiently terrified and intrigued by the mythical creatures’ exhibit featuring Dragons, Unicorns and a particularly terrifying looking fiberglass Kraken. Previously he would have run from the exhibit screaming but he actually went round twice with use so he is developing. Assuming he doesn’t have any nightmares in the coming weeks and months of being pursued by Bigfoot. We found other activities for him and reflected that maybe we weren't fated to see puppets that day as five minutes into the next show, the fire alarm went off and the museum had to be evacuated. We took this as our lunchtime signal to leave.

This was all a prelude to the big day – Monday – when he finally goes to school for the first time. We took him to see it last week and I was impressed with the range of activities and feel of the place. It is quite near home but is well laid out, secure, the kids were well behaved (‘wait till they get a load of me’) and even though it is only 9am to 1pm; it will give him some much-needed interaction with other children and possibly more importantly, give his poor mother a break.

He wore his special new outfit, wore his yellow BBC backpack, which took some effort to take on and off but once he got the habit, it was a cinch, and talked excitedly about going to meet all his new friends. We drove down and held his hand as we walked into reception. Each parent has a secure key fob to enter the school, and then you enter your child’s name on a touchpad screen on the wall. Once they are logged in, the door opens and you go into the classroom to leave them to their future. Despite getting a little emotional, of course Vince had no time for anyone but his new friends so Stacey and I hung his bag up waved and walked away leaving our little bird to fly.

He behaved himself, used the bathroom by himself and wanted to go back again today so win, win, win all round.

My own schooldays were littered with inattentive, uninterested teachers who couldn’t handle a precocious, clever kid which looking back, set me on the path of self-amusement and idleness rather than engagement and wonder which should be the basis of education everywhere. It all worked out well in the end however and now the shoe is firmly on the other foot, I am delighted to see the pleasure and control exhibited by the teachers and the fact that they actually seemed to enjoy the company of their class.

Hopefully this is his first stage on a lifelong journey of discovery and learning that will take him wherever he wants to go, be it near or far. Darker days will come but I can remind him of the Sunny day in August when a happy little boy couldn’t wait to go to school, meet his friends, play, then come home and tell his mum and dad all about it.

One little monkey does five little monkeys!

2011-08-06T09:13:00.002-04:00

Pressure Cooker

2011-08-01T22:00:00.000-04:00

"Pressure. Changes everything. Some people, you squeeze them, they focus. Some people fold. Can you summon your talent at will? Can you deliver on deadline? Can you sleep at night?" - John Milton, The Devil's Advocate.

An apt quote I feel and one that sums up the performance of the President in the past week as he capitulates to a group of economic terrorists calling themselves The Tea Party.

Let's recap. The US Debt ceiling is due to be reached tomorrow, nominally the maximum amount the US can borrow before legally going into default but it is actually payday for the bills it has already wracked up. Said limit has been raised numerous times since 1946, eight times under the previous incumbent of the White House whose notices for two wars and tax cuts comes due tomorrow.

An economically ignorant, ideologically unhinged group who want to turn America into an 18th century theocracy based on the two hundred year old writings of several dead, white, slave owners has, aided and abetted by a media that really should know better, convinced the rump of the reasonable Republican party that disaster is inevitable and only their intrasigence against any tax rises stood between the country and this fate.

Terrified of primary challenges, the cowed majority went along and joined them in holding the US economy hostage before a supine President and Democratic party who, right on schedule, ripped up any negotiating points, principals and touchstones that they and their supporters back - Medicare, Medicaid, Social Security - the social underpinning of the country in other words - in order to give the Tea Partiers 99% of their demands without extracting 1 cent of revenue, while allowing hedge funds to keep their loopholes and tax deductions on corporate jets.

In case it needs restating, but a cursory glance at the unemployment or GDP figures suggests it isn't - America's main two economic issues are an anemic recovery and employment becoming engrained. The deficit can and should wait for another day, when the US is more handily positioned to deal with it. By elevating an esoteric economic argument into a main talking point and by the President's wilfull neglect in asceeding to their economic terrorism, the US has moved its family into a hole in the ground, covered in tarpaulin and will eat dust and berries for the next 10 years whilst paying the credit card bills on time.

Paul Krugman and the practically every other writer of the left is outraged, and rightly so, as the creator of the New Deal, the man who faced a similar situation and had the courage to face down his and his countries internal and external enemies, the man who would have invoked the 14th ammendment to authorize payment and told his enemies he's see them in court, if they had the balls to show up, FDR, spins in his grave.

Weeks after ordering the shooting of Osama Bin Laden in the face, Obama meekly got on his hands and knees to allow America's economic terrorists spank him in front of God and everybody. I guess pressure does change people. It changed the Democratic president into a Republican and a Coward at that. He has spent the past few weeks trying to position himself as the adult in the room - well the only adult he resembles is an emasculated, deadbeat, divorced dad, pleading for an extra weekend with the kids.

The choice facing the electorate in 2012 has become crystal clear - the only choice is which color Republican you want to vote for.

Men for all Seasons

2011-07-30T20:14:00.002-04:00

August is upon us and we are at a fortuitous and time-consuming juncture for the sports fan. The English Football Championships are about to get underway and as this is where my first and dearest sporting loves, Middlesbrough FC currently reside, is a good place to start. A young team under the guidance of iconic manager Tony Mowbray may skirt the playoffs but like most North East football fans, this season will be best viewed the the prism of nostalgia. Things were great once, and will be again, just maybe not this year. This was underlined on Friday night when World Cup Winner, Juninho, the clubs greatest modern player, returned to play in a friendly and remind the fans of the not-so-distant glory nights in Europe.

The Redcar Bears speedway team are holding their own in the British Premier League and the Atlanta Hawks basketball team ate in the middle of the NBA labour lockout and won't be back until October at the earliest.

I reluctantly embraced Baseball as a colonial immitation of cricket but the more I begin to learn and appreciate about the game, through Ken Burns films, Moneyball and the ubiquitous coverage, the more it and the Atlanta Braves have sucked me in. Also, like cricket, on the radio it morphs into something else altogether - drama, comedy, art - all the elements that elevate sport to a higher plane over everyday life. The Atlanta Falcons are legitimate NFL contenders this year too, the labour dispute has ended satisfactorily and we are about to power on with the season.

Sport is as essential a part of the fabric of American life as it is in England, Australia or pretty much any other country you care to name. They might obsess over their own competitions rather than others but the thrill of victory and the pain of defeat, negated or magnified by baseball's 162 game season or footballs 16, remain the same.

Of course my dream is for Vincent to share my devotion for a second tier football club in the cold northeast of England some 2000 miles away but so long as we have something, we'll be set for a lifetime of shared misery together. And nothing will make a father happier.

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