Dogs, Driving & Potstickers

When people walk their dogs around Green Lake they stop and pause to let the precious pooches sniff other canines passing by. The owners don't talk; they just pause for several seconds as their animals give one another a big ol' sniff.

If you're a dog owner, this isn't interesting. If you aren't, it's a very funny thing to observe.

Speaking of dogs, Andy (haha) drove a car today! First time driving in America as an official resident. A few things:

• We aren't sure why, but it's totally OK for him to drive a Car2Go with a British license. Seems wrong to me, but hey, I'm not questioning it. 

• When people who are used to driving on the left side (Brits, Irish, Bhutanese, etc.) drive on the right side, they always want to hug the shoulder. For whatever reason, they feel like they're about to hit the cars on the left, so they constantly drift into the right lane / shoulder. Without a local barking at them from the passenger seat, they would hit a guardrail 80% of the time. 

• Supervising Andy's US driving is the only time I'm able to nag him and get away with it. I'm LOVING IT. 

Speaking of loving things, I used to go ape for potstickers when I was in junior high. Got two bags of them from PCC for dinner tonight—not as good as I remember. 

Goodnight, 

Margaret

P.S. Was anyone else already sick of Back To The Future Day by about 9:30am this morning? Jeez. Sometimes the Internet can really beat a dead horse. I'm not looking forward to what it makes of Beat a Dead Horse Day (April 15th 2018). 

Land of plenty

Today in the Safeway produce section Andy stared in bewilderment as the automatic sprinklers misted the veggies, complete with thunder sound effect. He laughed and shook his head. "This f-ing country."

It reminded me of an article I read recently about former Soviet President Boris Yeltsin's trip to Houston in 1989. During his visit he went to a local grocery store and was amazed at what he saw.

Image via Chron.com

He said if the Russian people knew about how much food there was in America—how good it could be—there would be a revolution. As he would later recount on Oprah's couch (not really, but I wish) this was his 'a-ha moment'.

In all seriousness, though, this was the moment when Yeltsin first soured on the whole communism thing. And that was just some shite Texas grocery store. Imagine what he'd think of Metropolitan Market!

Love,
Margaret

P.S. If these blogs were any shorter, they'd be my thumbnail!

P.P.S. I bit my thumbnail down too far the other day and now it hurts.

Food trend alert: store-bought PB&Js

I've noticed a new food trend since my move back to America. Store-bought PB&Js. They're everywhere. In the PCC deli. In Starbucks bento boxes. On the menu at your local sandwich joint.

What does this say about our society?

1. We're that lazy 
2. We think that nostalgia = good (seen across millennial culture, not just in the culinary world) 

But allow me to step down off my high llama for a second. I love this trend. Heck, I've been singing Uncrustables' praises for years now. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches are delicious and, for those rare occasions when curried tempeh just won't cut it, I'm willing to pay $4 for one from PCC.

Image by Evan-Amos via Wikimedia Commons

Some more useful information relating to PB&Js:

• The first reference of peanut butter paired with jelly on bread to be published in the United States was by Julia Davis Chandler in 1901 in the Boston Cooking-School Magazine of Culinary Science and Domestic Economics. (via Wikipedia)

• Jam is made from crushed fruit, whereas jelly is made from fruit juice.

• The average American eats 1,500 PB&Js before the age of 18. (via Thrillist)

• April 2nd is National Peanut Butter and Jelly Day.

• Arachibutyrophobia is the fear of getting peanut butter stuck to the roof of your mouth.

I hope we all learned something here today. 

Goodbye,
Margaret

P.S. After its Emmy win, Andy and I decided to start watching 'Veep.' Our verdict? Hilarious. I recommend. 

What globalization taught us about Goldfish crackers

When Andy ate his first Goldfish cracker he nibbled on it for a while and then said, "Hmm. Tastes like celery."

I was like, "What? Celery!? You're insane."

Then I looked at the ingredients and there it was: celery salt.

Sometimes it takes a foreigner to point out the stuff you've been missing all your life. When I first met Andy, he was in favor of the monarchy, for Christ's sake! I explained to him that having a Queen, ceremonial as she may be, is a joke in this day and age. He thought about it, engaged with that new idea for a few minutes, and then updated his opinion on the matter.

One time he pointed out to me that I say "I feel like" at the end of my sentences. For example, "You really don't see as many frappuccinos these days I feel like". Now that he's pointed it out, I notice everyone doing it. It's a Pacific Northwest thing I feel like.

Is it time we start allowing babies in bars? 

Anyway, all this is to say that mingling with outsiders—dirty foreigners like Andy—is a good thing. We can learn a lot from one another if we look beyond our borders. Brits can teach us good pub etiquette, particularly when it comes to buying 'rounds'. We can teach them that you don't have to spend ten minutes building up to a goodbye and then ten more minutes actually saying goodbye.

You know what the Japanese can teach us? How to install a bloody earthquake alert system in Seattle!!

I don't know what Donald Trump is on about. We don't need less immigration, we need more. Much, much more.

Wow, I didn't expect it to get political there in the end. Did you see that coming? You just never know where Madgespace will take you, particularly when you're writing stream of consciousness, which is about 89% of this blog.

Tally-ho you knobheads,
Margaret

Ram it

Don't you love it when you discover a hilarious video on YouTube completely on your own? A few years ago I was looking for songs with the word 'ram' in them (my spouse's nickname is Ram) and came across this gem.

Things to consider when watching:

• This was an actual NFL team. They're now the St. Louis Rams, apparently. #AmericanFootball

• The guys rapping in the video are the athletes themselves.

• Imagine this happening today. Can you picture Beast Mode rapping to a song called 'Hawk It'?

• The song is really good.

• This should be mandatory for all NFL teams.

Also, after Googling the song I now realize that I'm not the only one whose been fascinated by its existence. Turns out, there are tons of articles about how amazing it is. Still, I'm proud that I came across it organically.

In other news, I went camping and now I'm back. It was great. Here's a brief, chronological summary:

Lake.

Foil dinners.

Campfire.

Tent. 

Hike. 

Game.

Town. 

Campfire. 

Tent.
Deer.
Taco Time. 

Back to the grind tomorrow! Nighty night. 

Love, 

Margaret

US: world #1 in WPC

Weirdos Per Capita.

Andy pointed it out during one of his visits here.

"Americans are just so much more comfortable being weird!"

And it's true. After a week in Seaside and a stroll along the Alki strip this afternoon, it's clearer than ever. Americans are weird.

Today I saw a guy, shirt off, jean shorts, spiky blond hair, gliding down the sidewalk with a boombox on his skateboard blaring '90s rap. Further down the road a 50-year-old man was waxing his motorcycle while listening to 'Backstreet's Back' on full blast.

In Seaside, I saw entire families dressed in matching sweatsuits with neon 'Seaside' lettering across their butts.

Dogs in strollers? Yep!

Gangster knee tattoos? Oh yeah!

Tai Chi on the side of a busy road? Of course!

Lounge chairs and BBQ-ing in the driveway? Cool!

Crocs with dresses / high heels with exercise shorts / barefoot in public? Yes! Yes! Yes!

This stuff just doesn't happen in Britain.

Maybe it would have been more accurate (and kinder) for Andy to say that Americans are comfortable being different. Unlike Brits, we don't mind standing out in a crowd. Or we aren't even aware that we're standing out. Or we realise that, in a country full of sore thumbs, there's actually no such thing as standing out. When everyone's weird, "weird" loses its meaning.

Alki today.

In these first few weeks back, I've also been struck by how friendly everyone is. That's something you hear Brits say often—"Americans are so friendly!" I never fully understood it until now. It's not just cheery baristas and overly helpful door greeters at The Gap. It's totally random strangers being totally randomly friendly, all the time.

Example. You're standing in a long line at Starbucks and your phone rings. It's your sister. You ask her if she wants a drink. Everyone she's with also wants something, so you say "hang on a second" and then type up the list of orders on your phone.

In the US, it would not be strange for the person behind you to say something like, "I bet you're sorry you asked!" after you hung up. You'd respond, "Geesh, I know!" and the two of you would share a chuckle.

In the UK, this wouldn't happen. Of course the person behind you would have eavesdropped on your conversation—it's impossible not to—but they wouldn't want you to know they had. Talking to you about the call would mean acknowledging that they listened in on it, and they simply wouldn't be comfortable with that.

The UK has many virtues (GOING TO THE DENTIST COSTS $12!!!!!), but they're lacking in weirdos. Even the weirdos they do have are generic weirdos. Here in Yankland, particularly on the west coast, weirdos grow on trees.

Speaking of trees, have I told you about the trees here?

Sincerely,
Weird in Washington*

P.S. Pronounced Warshington

Speak loudly and carry a pack of soothing cough drops

I'm hoarse.

Not to be an old lady, but why must they play the music so loud in bars? How are people supposed to have a decent conversation over ear-piercing guitar solos?

Five and a half years in the UK and my once-robust American vocal chords have shrivelled into shadows of their former selves. I became so accustomed to the meek, muted tones of British discourse that I fear I may never regain my old volume.

In Edinburgh I'd often work from the black chair in our bay window. I quickly learned how to tune out the bagpipes. But when American tourists would walk down the Mile, my ears couldn't ignore their familiar, flat, unapologetic, thunderous honking. MY PEOPLE. I'd be compelled to look up from my laptop and watch them walk by. Yoga pants + fleece + running shoes, without fail.

It took me about a year of being over there to adopt a UK-approved volume. It happened gradually. I didn't realise I was talking quieter until I came back to Kenmore for a visit and everyone in my family kept saying, "What?" "I can't hear you!" "Speak up!"

Now that I'm back for good, I can only hope that I'll eventually get my voice back. My true American voice. Monotone. Confident. Loud.

While I'm on the subject, I think it's unfair that Americans get all the flack for being loud. Yes, we're loud. Much louder than the English, Scottish and Irish. But we aren't the only country that errs on the side of screaming. What about Italians? Or Greeks? Spaniards? Porto Ricans? Those are just some of the countries where, according to anecdotal research and some quick Googling, people also talk loudly.

What's on its head? I don't know. I don't think we'll ever know.

I feel like I've meandered off topic because it's nearly midnight and I haven't yet fulfilled my bath quota for the day. I can't think straight.

The main thing I wanted to get across is that I'm hoarse. HOARSE. After catching up with high school friends all day, and having a lovely time, I'm ready for some herbal tea and hot soak in the tub.

Wiedersehen,

Margaret

P.S. Don't Google Image search "Vocal Chords". NSFW.

P.PS. Is there a better cough drop than original Ricola? If so, I don't want to know about it.

Image by philozopher via Flickr

Microsoft, lock up your cricket players!

Andy has the green light to move to Seattle! His visa was approved.

Because I'm lazy and it's 11:11pm (woah, all 1s), I'll copy/paste our gchat conversation below.

Friday, March 27, 2015 7:17 AM

Andy Williamson

hi lunk

Margaret Kay

YES

hi

should I call

Andy Williamson

I'm in s-bucks and et's pretty besy

so i cannae really talk

Margaret Kay

OH OK RAM

GOOD JOB

How was it?!?/1/!

Andy Williamson

so easy

total time in the embassy (including queuing) 2 hours

total time spent talking to embassy staff - 3 minutes

Margaret Kay

What!? Crazy! And they told you it was "approved"?

Andy Williamson

interview 1 was where i handed in all the forms, then I sat back down

then I got called through to the interview woman who asked very, very cursory questions

and then just said, yep, that's good enough for me

---

After all the hassle of getting the visa documents together (long story, but it involves some tax forms being dropped off and left for dead at a jewellery shop by an idiot postman), I was SHOCKED that he was approved in just a few minutes.

We were prepared for the worst, and expected the worst. But we ended up with the best case scenario, all things considered.

I told him we all wear American flags behind our ears (shhhhh! don't tell - it's a hilarious prank)

There is one thing. After the interview, Andy spent a lovely day in London with some mates before hopping on the Tube for London City Airport to make his 9:20pm flight back to Edinburgh. Only problem is that he was booked on the 7:45pm flight. All that visa success went to his head and he forgot he booked the earlier flight! Luckily, he was able to make it to the train station in time to blag his way into a first class ticket on the Caledonian Sleeper for the price of coach. In fact, he's snoozing to the sound of "Chugga Chugga Choo Choo" as I type this. 

Now, if you'll please join me in raising your glass to our newest United States resident, Andy Williamson! 

Hip hip? Hooray! 

Hip hip? Hooray! 

Hip hip? Hooray! 

Hmmm...should those "hip hips" have ended in a question mark? I'm second guessing myself. 

Egads. Two stream-of-consciousness blog posts in a row. 

Cheerio, Margaret 

P.S. The title of this post was a spin on "Mothers, lock up your daughters!" Just FYI. 

P.P.S. Remember a few weeks ago when I wrote about how my friend Tori and her sister thought the Kool & the Gang song lyrics were "Celebrate the Taj Mahal"? Well, today my nieces and I were having a dance party to celebrate finishing an alphabet jigsaw puzzle and a certain bro-in-law of mine starting singing, "Celebrations now, come on!" I mean, hilarious. Kool, you and your gang clearly need to annunciate better.

Does it stay or does it go?

I'm moving to Seattle in a month. A MONTH.

My visa's up, and it's time for Andy to experience a country where the mailman doesn't just drop off incoming post, but takes your outgoing mail too. Get ready, Ram. Conveniences like that are just the tip of the iceberg.

I  have only four weekends left, and I expect most of those to be filled with surprise goodbye parties. So, I figured it would behoove me to start the packing process today.

According to my calculations, 80% of what I own has to go. Great! I love a good declutter sesh. I'm very excited about giving my ancient sock collection the heave-ho and starting anew.

Still, saying goodbye to some items was difficult.

DOES IT STAY or does it GO ?

Beige pencil skirt

Ha! This lil' number may have gotten me a few office gigs in the past, but my corporate days are over. I won't need this while I type my novel in my houseboat. It GOES.

Spokane Chiefs hockey jersey

Give THIS away? Heck no. I won it fair and square by tricycling down the ice at halftime and beating two other hockey fans to the finish line. Yes, I've been waiting my whole life for the right occasion to wear it, but that day will come. It STAYS.

Moccasins

I'm moving back to the west coast of America—land of the laid back and carefree. It would seem wrong not to take my most laid back, carefree footwear. They STAY.

"Three Cups of Tea" by Greg Mortenson

Firstly, an actual book? I don't need those heavy, spacehogs anymore. I have a kindle now. Secondly, the guy who wrote this turned out to have the ol' Brian Williams/Mike Daisey disease. Don't even know why this paperback of lies is still on my bookshelf. It definitely GOES.

Dusty Chacos

Yes! I must keep these. Haven't worn them in five years, but I'm going to get massively into hiking once I'm back. I'll need them. They STAY.

Tie-Dye Shirt

Francie and I each bought a tie-dye shirt at the Folk Life Festival in 2002. I still have mine. It's come in handy for a few 70s-theme parties, but I think it's time I lay it to rest. I'm 28 now. Also, it smells really musty. With a heavy heart, it GOES.

Hundreds of 'Margaret Kay Content' business cards

Sad to throw all these away, but it's time for some new partnerships and some re-branding. Plus, I forgot to put my email address on them. Not a ringing endorsement of my copywriting skills. 

They GO. 

To play us out, in honour of everything that didn't make the cut, here's Andre:

Cheers, 

Margaret

The American Dream

I love it here in the UK. It's old. It's historic. It's charming. It's hip. When I eventually hightail it back to my homeland, there's so much that I'll miss about this place (being the exotic one, for starters).

But there are certain experiences that I just can't wait to welcome back into my life. I was daydreaming about America today, and here's what I pictured:

I drive a MASSIVE car through a MASSIVE parking lot and into a MASSIVE parking space. I get out and walk into a MASSIVE Target to buy a MASSIVE wallet that fits all of my many cards (Starbucks cards, license, old driver's permit, student IDs, debit/credit cards, hotel keys, wallet-sized Old Tyme Photos from Seaside, Oregon etc.).

Oh, did I mention it's about 11:45pm that I'm doing this? Yeah, the Northgate Target is open until midnight, so why not go nocturnal wallet shopping?

It ain't cute. No cobblestones to be found. But it's there when you need it. It's giant, familiar and nonjudgemental.

Then I drive back home along a MASSIVE five-lane freeway in a MASSIVE lane that I have all to myself. I step out into the driveway under a MASSIVE star-filled sky. Once inside, I lay down on my MASSIVE wrap-around couch and fall asleep to the sound of the dishwasher humming and the steady thump thump of the dryer heating my clothes until they're soft and wrinkle-free.

TGIF,

Margaret