Letter from America IV - January 2010

Local radio frequency?

In Europe the radio frequencies of local radio stations are often posted on roadside signs presumably so that drivers can tune in and benefit from local travel updates, weather etc. I thought they did the same in Texas but I could never manage to find the stations and, even more confusingly, some frequencies seemed to be outside the reception range of my radio. It transpires that a sign in Texas advertising FM1098 is not in fact a local radio frequency but instead a ‘Farm to Market’ road number – Yesiree, ‘B roads’ in Texas are called ‘Farm to Market’ roads! This term is obviously a quaint reflection of life in the past, not dissimilar to our ‘Dual Carriage Ways’, I guess, but the latter won’t cause you to prat around with your radio.

Honk if you love Jesus!

The number of drivers using cell phones and texting while driving has reached epidemic proportions in Houston and has become a really serious danger on the roads. Cars and pick-ups, even 18-wheelers slalom across lanes in distraction completely oblivious to the mayhem they are leaving in their wake. A bumper sticker popular in the ‘Bible Belt’ of Texas encourages drivers to “Honk if you love Jesus”. A more appropriate bumper sticker would be “Honk if you love Jesus. Text while driving if you want to meet him”.

2 Questions free by phone!

I haven’t yet figured out (sic) what this says about Texans but there seems to be an extraordinary number of palm readers, psychics and mediums (media?) advertising their services on signs, billboards, flyers etc.. I guess it just goes to show that those Americans gullible enough to believe the inane TV commercials (mentioned in my first epistle) are equally vulnerable to supernatural suggestion. There is actually a self-acclaimed psychic living near our facility (potentially useful for Board presentations) who has a sign in her yard offering to answer two questions for free by phone (I’m not kidding - see photo). I can just imagine the conversation….

“Howdy, Mayem, how are you? Are you that there psychic lady what answers two questions for free by phone?”

“Sure am. What’s tha third question?”

“D’oh!”

President's Club IAH

My Skyteam Alliance Platinum-Elite-Plus-for-Life status was rendered worthless in Houston when Continental jumped ship and moved to Star Alliance. But good riddance I say. In October, I was politely informed by an over-powdered and lipsticked Continental ‘guard dog’ in the lobby of the President’s Club that I was only allowed entry to the lounge on business class international flights and – wait for it – flights to Canada were ‘not considered international’. Somewhat taken aback, I pointed out that everybody was entitled to their own ‘considerations’ but not their own facts and, under the terms of the Skyteam agreement, she should let me in. She then repeated her statement, verbatim, but this time with more careful and precise enunciation only serving to make my blood boil. 

Canadian Banknotes!

I felt it my duty to point out that Bush had invaded Iraq not Canada and that the picture on the front of the Canadian bank notes, retrieved from my wallet and waggled indignantly, was in fact our beloved Queen Elizabeth and not His Royal Highness Barack Obama. I then continued into the lounge, self-righteously. Moments later I was pursued by a near-spherical-shaped security guard who somehow managed to maneuver herself between me and the bar (people knowing me well will analogize that to standing between a female grizzly and her cubs). I explained to her that the matter was quite simple – is Canada a foreign country? Caught off guard (so to speak), she answered “Err, Yes.” and the bar tender and a passenger already entrenched at the bar were quick to concur. We all agreed that she should return to the front desk to administer a geography lesson so off she waddled and that was that - “Gin and Tonic, please”. 

Resident pajama cases!

I’ve known for a while that I am allergic to cat owners but now the allergy seems to have extended to the canine equivalent (at least those in my apartment building). Strangely, only dogs under 10 lbs weight are permitted in the building and grounds. I find this difficult to rationalize; in Texas even the steaks are bigger. Surely these yappy little GM fur-balls are more irritating than proper dogs and, if you ever have the misfortune to tread in something unpleasant, the breed of the perpetrator is the last thing that crosses your mind. I suspect that key members of the Residents’ Committee are also members of the local Chihuahua and Poodle club and they are afraid of proper dogs being tempted to doggie-date their beloved little ‘pajama-cases’. Without any hint of embarrassment, on warm weekend mornings, all the fur-balls are dressed up like fashion accessories (pink leads attached to diamond-studded collars) and then dragged around the block for exercise. The whole neighborhood looks like a Duracell commercial.

The Houston police car

I think the ‘100 Club’ membership has already paid off. On a fine Saturday morning in October the inevitable happened – I was caught speeding. Not excessive speeding, I might add, nothing reckless, but seemingly in Houston 85mph on the freeway is enough to offend. A police car with huge bull-bars suddenly appeared from nowhere in my rear view mirror and virtually blinded me with the red and blue strobes. I suspect that they wanted me to pull over to the left but I still associate that with the ‘fast lane’ so, while exercising my full range of expletives, I moved across five lanes of traffic to the inside lane and slowed to a crawl. They followed behind but I was reluctant to pull over and plough through all the flotsam and jetsam on the hard shoulder. Reluctant I was until the cops lost patience and moved from much too close behind me to much too close beside me – like a non-contact ‘pit maneuver’. Thankfully by this time they had spotted my ‘100 Club’ sticker (not immediately obvious on the slanting rear windshield). They manually signaled me to slow down and then sped away leaving me doing 20 mph with an 18-wheeler approaching from behind at 70mph. Nevertheless, $100 well spent, I would say.

Skymall travel pillow1

Continuing on the theme of inane advertising – ‘Sky Mall’ is a mail order magazine to be found in every airplane seat pocket on domestic US flights. Admittedly there are some pretty cool gadgets on offer but you have to wade through 90% of dross to find them. Most items range from the ridiculous to the utterly pathetic. For example:

• A very large, inflatable, wedge-shaped pillow (see photo) to be placed on your tray table in aircraft so that you can sleep in a leant-forward position (and prevent the seat in front reclining into your space) – um, I can see a fight developing

• An airgun for shooting marsh-mallows – um, why? - maybe an attempt to sidestep latest TSA regulations while protecting the American right to carry arms?

• Little carpeted staircases so that over-pampered pets can get to places that they shouldn’t be without stressing their furry little bodies (see photo) – ughh

'Walkies' without walking!

• Little trolleys so you can take the same over-pampered pets for a walk without them actually having to walk – presumably for the ‘all American’ dog (see photo) - ughh

• Little jackets and booties so that the same over-pampered pets don’t catch a chill in winter ……ughh. – need I go on?

• Luckily, most airlines have had the presence of mind to provide a sick bag with every copy of the magazine.

Americans seem totally impervious to the British sarcastic sense of humo(u)r. Several anecdotes (some provided by expat friends) illustrate:

• A female friend shopping alone explained to the shop assistant “My husband has an illness that prevents him from being in a clothes shop for more than 5 minutes.” The shop assistant replied with all the sincerity and concern she could muster, “I’m so very sorry to hear that. Is it curable?”

Christmas belt buckle!

• As a petrol pump attendant tried to squeeze 16.1 gallons of petrol into my 16 gallon tank he admired the car and asked, amongst other things, what the fuel consumption was (as if it actually mattered). I replied. “Even with a tail-wind you’ll be lucky to get 18 miles per gallon”. He mulled this over and then commented “Can be kinda windy some days though”.

• When I complained to my concierge “It’s so hot and humid in Houston I spend no time outdoors; I just run from one air-conditioned building to another.” he replied “But you have a car, right?”

• When confronted with an extraordinary array of outrageously ornate belt buckles I commented “Wow, I’m not sure if I’m buying a belt buckle or something for the Xmas tree”. With a flourish of triumph the elderly sales gentleman presented his prized ‘Star of Texas’ belt buckle (see photo) with the unspoken implication that this would satisfy both applications. I had to admit that it would have looked great atop a Xmas tree (albeit the one in Piccadilly Circus).

• When I noticed that a $1500 pair of cowboys boots was made from the skin of ostrich legs, I asked the shop assistant, somewhat flippantly, if they would make you walk like an ostrich. He replied “I don’t think so, Sir. Ostrich knees bend backwards.”

"Prescribe these Doctor!"

In the UK, if you get sick, you go to the Doctor and tell him where it hurts. He prods you, looks at your tongue, grimaces, tells you what’s wrong and prescribes something that makes you better. Not in the USA. Here it is legal to advertise prescription drugs on television! The strategy is blatant. The commercials start by describing benign symptoms that most people have in one form or another and then go on to explain how this might be symptomatic of a life-threatening condition. They then introduce a new miracle drug backed by some pseudo-scientific BS and tell you that you desperately need it – you should run to your Doctor and pester him until he prescribes it. Unfortunately they are legally obliged to warn of any significant side effects so the commercials end with a rapid-fire graphic description of gruesome conditions guaranteed to make anyone, not quick enough with the remote control, bring up their breakfast. Not surprisingly, records show that the USA averaged 12.6 prescriptions per year per capita in 2007!

Operation Repo!

The absurdity of American TV ‘entertainment’ reached a whole new level with the popular real-life program ‘Operation Repo’ on ‘TruTV’. A team of giant, muscled, tattooed bailiffs (and that’s just the women) film their repossession of cars and relish in the somewhat predictable reaction of the (soon to be previous) owners. They never initiate violence beyond ‘belly-posturing’ but intimidate and provoke to such an extent that ‘self-defense’ is eventually justified. Apparently, the team, now a cartoon of itself, commands a cult following in America (see photo). I bet the type of Americans who actually enjoy this sort of television lock their cars in their garages before sitting down to watch.

World Extreme Cagefighting

World Extreme Cage Fighting (WEC) and Mixed Martial Arts (MMA) are televised, no-holds-barred brawls of gladiatorial brutality (I mean Roman not US gameshow). Even the feather-weights make Tyson look like a sissy. Among the millions of fans, I have to admit that I quite enjoy watching (not least because the 5-minute rounds guarantee at least that much time without commercials). Conversely there is the World Wrestling Federation (WWF).

WWF 'Hero' Hulk Hogan

This is a bizarre and comically daft cross between American style ‘pantomime’ theatrics and choreographed circus gymnastics but nevertheless it has an even bigger following than cage fighting. Millions of adult (!) fanatics refuse to accept that the fights are anything but genuine (and apparently still believe in Father Christmas). How can so many people be so dumb? By the way, my hero is Hulk Hogan cos I saw him throw a 350lb opponent out of the ring by his nostril hair – no seriously.

Cowboy belt buckle!

I know myself well enough to realize that, if I budget for something, I will invariably end up spending twice as much – I had never gone 17 times over budget until the day I decided to buy a belt. Pinto Ranch is an up market western store that was recommended for having a wide selection of ‘quality belts’. They had. An elderly gentleman introduced me to their range of exotic skins and was quick to extol the virtues of the more expensive. When I commented that none had buckles he indicated that the ‘furniture’ (I had obviously used the wrong terminology) was sold separately. He could provide a generic buckle free of charge (so at least the two ends could be joined together) but his eye contact conveyed the message that a gentleman of my obvious sartorial elegance would never consider that. A quick glance at the price tag told me I had better enjoy this experience because it was going to cost me dearly. Having selected a ‘ridged alligator skin’ (“An excellent choice, Sir”) I was introduced to a hall of buckles where, much to the salesman’s disappointment, I selected a very plain simple buckle albeit, apparently, from a well-renowned local silversmith. I left the shop 40 minutes later feeling slightly light headed and only then realised, with some dismay, that due to my Houstonian diet and exercise regime (or lack thereof), I could not see the belt or the ‘furniture’ without the aid of a mirror.

Texan seven course meal!

Though I have no complaints about Houston restaurants and the quality and quantity of food, what I do miss, for those special occasions, is the high end, Michelin starred restaurants that offer seven course tasting menus designed to be enjoyed, with a wine arrangement of course, over a whole evening. Eating in Houston tends to be more about satisfying hunger and efficient ‘re-fuelling’ than any form of gastronomic, sensory experience. The ideal seven course meal here in Texas is typically a pizza and a six-pack.

Another pertinent T-Shirt slogan I found on offer in a barbeque restaurant – “If God hadn’t intended us to eat animals, then why did he make them out of meat”. And another one slightly less emotive, you may have heard before – “If the cook ain’t fat, I ain’t eating it”.

Salvador Dali fluidity

On a road trip with a friend and colleague we chanced upon a wooden shack that turned out to be a family-run café proclaiming to be ‘world famous’ for its cinnamon buns. It was a charming, homely, olde-worlde, establishment much like a grandmother’s front room. We were welcomed in and ushered to a table adjacent to two ladies whose combined weight must have been well over 500 lbs. The way their body mass overflowed their seats reminded me of a Salvador Dali painting.

The huge cinnamon bun!

They chatted away merrily while quite obviously eavesdropping our conversation, intrigued by the strange gentlemen from ‘ouddatown’. When the buns arrived they were truly enormous, oozing with icing and dolloped with cream; each would have quite happily satisfied a family of four in the UK. When I made a comment to that effect one of the ladies turned to our table and said “You can tell we’re regulars here can’t you?”. We all laughed and nodded in agreement - I always warm to people who can make fun of themselves. I was mentally constructing a witty riposte regarding their size when she continued “because we know to share one.” Phew! A serious faux pas very narrowly avoided. I don’t think we would have made it to the door.

Halloween trick or treat

In November I experienced my first Halloween celebration, in America a festivity second only to Thanksgiving, and what fun it was. I was invited to a friend’s home for dinner to experience the celebration in the local community. All the kids, even some dogs were dressed up – not just in spooky stuff – seemingly any costume will do. Even some adults had dressed up, though judging by the ones I saw, I suspect that this was just an excuse to exhibit somewhat dubious latent fetishes - harmless enough I guess. The fire brigade was there to show off their fire engine and let the kids climb over the vehicle and pretend to be firemen while the Dads (and I) suppressed the urge to join in. Then the local police constable lead the procession in his patrol car with the strobes flashing before the kids fanned out to ‘trick or treat’. 

Halloween hangover!

Tricking and treating was not what I expected though, the kids are not required to do anything in return for their treats (Bill Gates would call that a sign of the times) and ‘candies’ are collected, literally by the bucketful. I soon learned that when a huge basket of sweets is presented to a kid there are two types of reaction – some would smile when they spotted their favorite candy and pluck it from the top layer – others would snarl and plunge in with both fists like junk-yard grapples not caring what they got as long as it was lots. Though it was dark I had little trouble matching kids to parents. When enough sweets had been collected to last until next year we returned home to a wonderful barbeque steak supper prepared to mouth-watering perfection in an outdoor kitchen – indeed only in America – poles apart from the ritual cremation of sausages on BBQs back in Blighty.

Remote control evolution

I have just received the updated list of TV channels available from Comcast, my cable, internet and landline provider. I couldn’t be bothered to count them all but I guess there are over 500 channels including the most obscure (Russian, Vietnamese, Chinese, Arabic, Filipino). Frustratingly though, still no BBC channels beyond the so-called ‘BBC America’ with its 50% commercials. Every country I have visited, most not even English-speaking, offers BBC World and many offer BBC1 and BBC2. So why no ‘real’ BBC in USA? The reason is quite obvious and the rep. from Comcast so much as agreed with me. If Comcast offered ‘real’ BBC (albeit with a time shift), a commercial-free TV channel, world-renowned for being one of the best news, documentary, nature, soap, film and sports channels on the planet, nobody would watch anything else (apart from maybe one or two talk shows and live American sports). There would be uproar from the other 499 commercial channels, their sponsors, their owners and 1000’s of advertisers; the whole US TV system would collapse, companies would go bankrupt, there would be mass unemployment, Oprah would defect to BBC2, the very fabric of the commercial society would disintegrate, popcorn and snack sales would plummet and remote controls would evolve to have only one button. The USA would be a very different place.

That's the lot. Thanks for reading. Let me know what you think. 'Pre-shade it'.