I managed to catch my first Miss USA Beauty Pageant this week and what a joy it was!
Putting aside the obvious anachronistic objections associated with such pageantry, I was looking forward to seeing some pretty girls in even prettier dresses wishing for an end to hunger and for world peace in a non-ironic way, this being America an' all.
This was going to be comedic TV at its best!
And how right I was!
Miss Tennessee had me in stitches. When asked to tell us about the fact that she spent some of her college time in Paris, she said, "Well, its kind of a funny story actually. I decided to apply to college and got accepted and then of course I rang my Mom to check that it was ok and she said yes and so I went to college, (cue girlie giggle)" And the punch line? No, that WAS the punch line! Oh, to have the sartorial talent of Miss Tennessee - us mere mortals can only wish for such wit and repartee.
Then there was Miss California, the girl lucky enough to eventually be crowned Miss USA 2011. She was asked to expand on the fact that she was a secret history buff. Now, I was fully prepared to hear that she was a closet history professor from Yale or Harvard. We are led to believe these days that a beauty queen must have brains as well as boobs, sorry I meant looks. Isn't a PhD in Astro Physics a pre-requisite?
Miss California it turns out likes to spend her time in bookstores reading up on Tudor and Stuart history - so far so good.
'Oh my Gosh, I just love history, especially the tudors and stuarts, and I NEVER miss an episode of Game of Thrones!'.
Hold on a minute, rewind - Game of Thrones - you mean the fantasy HBO epic based loosely on medieval fifedoms and warlording? The show with dragons? The show where anyone living north of Sheffield is a 'Wildling' and the area now known as Scotland is awash with zombie like monsters called White Walkers?
Did nobody have the decency to tell the poor girl it wasn't actually real!? or did I fall asleep in that particular history lesson?
The terrifying thing is that Miss California, sorry - Miss USA - now gets to go and visit the Troops on a morale boosting Tour of Beauty Duty. God forbid she should address the US Marines - 'Go get them there Dragons Boys and watch out for the Direwolves! God Bless America'
Oh dear.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Everything is just that little bit bigger...
America is hardly a significant counter-culture to that of the UK. Its not like we have a different alphabet. A shake of the head still means no and thumbs up is a good thing. But there is still a good argument for the case that this is a parallel universe - everything is the same, just that bit bigger. They are Gulliver to our Lilliput.
Take the humble Robin for instance. In the UK, we have our tiny little, red-breasted friend, with his rounded tummy and pinsize head. On our Christmas cards, he sits in snow on rural fence posts or poses outside holly- wreathed front doors watching Victorian carol singers. He is a twee little thing, who looks like he spilled a lunch of Heinz tomato soup down his front. He makes us cock our heads and go ahhhh.
By some twist of Darwinian fate, however, the same cannot be said of the US version. At least three times the size, he is an altogether different proposition. There is nothing sweet about him. He is a Goliath to our little David and in all respects the perfect metaphor for the colloquial difference between the US and the UK.
In fact, to the Americans, we are that little english robin. We are quaint, but feisty, refusing to believe that despite our size we are not still Lords of the Earth. How endearing of us, such a funny little nation to hold these delusions of grandeur in the shadow of the Eagle's claw.
Take the humble Robin for instance. In the UK, we have our tiny little, red-breasted friend, with his rounded tummy and pinsize head. On our Christmas cards, he sits in snow on rural fence posts or poses outside holly- wreathed front doors watching Victorian carol singers. He is a twee little thing, who looks like he spilled a lunch of Heinz tomato soup down his front. He makes us cock our heads and go ahhhh.
By some twist of Darwinian fate, however, the same cannot be said of the US version. At least three times the size, he is an altogether different proposition. There is nothing sweet about him. He is a Goliath to our little David and in all respects the perfect metaphor for the colloquial difference between the US and the UK.
In fact, to the Americans, we are that little english robin. We are quaint, but feisty, refusing to believe that despite our size we are not still Lords of the Earth. How endearing of us, such a funny little nation to hold these delusions of grandeur in the shadow of the Eagle's claw.
Friday, June 17, 2011
Are we talking the same language?
Telling people we were moving to Washington, the response was universally the same - at least you speak the same language!
But do we?
From renting a car to asking for directions to the nearest supermarket it would have been easy to think that perhaps I was speaking goobledigook.
'Hello, could you tell me the way to the nearest supermarket?'
'Say what?'
'The nearest supermarket?'
'Supermarket?'
Maybe this is going to be trickier than I thought. When I open my mouth to speak, you can see that 'Hank' or 'Mary Ellen' fully expects me to speak with an american accent of some denomination or other - an entirely reasonable assumption.
When I come out with an English accent, they initially look confused and can't immediately grasp what I am saying, which prompts me to repeat myself, slooowwwly. That confusion then gives way to a strange schmaltzy look, accompanied with some variation of 'oooh I lurve your accent'.
I knew some of the terms would be different - gas instead of petrol, band-aid instead of plaster, soda in place of fizzy pop, but when Simon told people at work he was just going to get his jumper, little did he know that they expected him to come back wearing a girls' pinnafore dress.
Oh, the perils of a common language!
But do we?
From renting a car to asking for directions to the nearest supermarket it would have been easy to think that perhaps I was speaking goobledigook.
'Hello, could you tell me the way to the nearest supermarket?'
'Say what?'
'The nearest supermarket?'
'Supermarket?'
Maybe this is going to be trickier than I thought. When I open my mouth to speak, you can see that 'Hank' or 'Mary Ellen' fully expects me to speak with an american accent of some denomination or other - an entirely reasonable assumption.
When I come out with an English accent, they initially look confused and can't immediately grasp what I am saying, which prompts me to repeat myself, slooowwwly. That confusion then gives way to a strange schmaltzy look, accompanied with some variation of 'oooh I lurve your accent'.
I knew some of the terms would be different - gas instead of petrol, band-aid instead of plaster, soda in place of fizzy pop, but when Simon told people at work he was just going to get his jumper, little did he know that they expected him to come back wearing a girls' pinnafore dress.
Oh, the perils of a common language!
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