Headline: Bank of Ellie Prepares for Sleep Takeover

Word of the day: reckon
I always thought American cowboys say it, but proper British people reckon things too.

Place of the day:
Today was American Day for my roommate Kendra and I, and so we went and got Twinkies at the only place that sells them in the UK it seems -- Cybercandy in Covent Garden. And then because we were on a kick, we hit up T.G.I. Friday's for way too much food.

News, News, News
I have been busy and important following the rogue trader from Société Générale, which is really much more exhilarating than a lot of slow stories that can happen in the financial world. Today I interviewed someone for a podcast, which I edited and then somehow managed to compress into a chipmunk song. Luckily my technical colleague in Tashkent, Uzbekistan (yeah, our tech team resides in this ambiguous office on the other side of the globe), to change Alvin into Ellie again.

Overall, a tiring but exhilarating day for both news and blood sugar ...

I am now reading: Um, let's just say "Société Générale" is on a Google news alert.

N'rn Ir'nd

Word of the day: wee
Everything is a wee bit more relaxed and pleasurable in Ireland.

Place of the day: Giant's Causeway, on the northeast coast of Northern Ireland. Irish Giant Finn McCool built it to fight his Scottish foe:


One Country, Two Nations
Northern Ireland is refreshing because it seems much more untapped as a tourist destination than what I hear other parts of Ireland are like. It is also rich in history -- both of crumbling castles and recent turmoil.

Upon first talking to the Irish I wasn't sure what to expect -- is Northern Ireland part of Ireland? Do they consider themselves Irish? The answers from the many locals I got to speak with -- most of them university students like my friend Erin I was visiting -- were of course diverse. This was unsurprising, as when I arrived in Belfast I was struck by the dichotomy. On a bus tour, we went through the area most affected by the Troubles (or the fights between Republicans and Loyalists). First we went down a street overflowing with Union Jacks (British flags). I was amazed! I knew I didn't need my passport to enter Northern Ireland, but I wasn't expecting such British patriotism. But round the corner and go through the wall that once separated the Protestants from the Catholics (but did not stop bombs from scaling the heights), and there is a totally different view. The Irish flags fluttered everywhere in the wind.

A mural commemorating UVF (a Loyalist group) members that died. Murals are everywhere in the area where many of the Troubles occurred to commemorate losses on both sides.

One of many Irish flags on the Catholic/Republican side of town.

The incredible part is that this division is a way of life. A way of life that somehow brings peace in a way to the young people I met who have both Catholic and Protestant friends. They joke and jab at one other for their different religious/political views (religion in Ireland is largely sectarian). Some nationalists/Republicans do not seem bothered that they are not a part of the UK -- for many of them they recognize that they are clearly Irish and it doesn't really matter what government they operate under. One Protestant I met told me while he wants Northern Ireland to remain in the UK, he does not consider it to be culturally different than the rest of the Ireland. When asked whether he considers himself Irish or British, he answered: "Northern Irish."

When Irish Eyes are Smiling...
I can't deny that somehow my heart fluttered for the nationalists. The British flags were kind of searing. While I know that the Troubles were not between the Irish and the English but rather a civil war, I can't help but remember that British rule of the past is what caused Ireland to split in the first place. Even though my ancestry is both British and Irish, the love of the Irish and the knowledge of their oppression runs really deep in my blood.

By the way, why do I feel such pride when I am only a quarter Irish? This is a common American condition I examined over the weekend. Maybe it was all of the folk songs growing up or the Guinness that flowed on St. Paddy's Day (also my Grandma's birthday!). The Irish laugh at how all Americans claim to be Irish. Not that it bothers the Irish that people like me love claiming Irish culture as our own. In fact, nothing seems to bother the Irish, as they are the most genuinely easygoing and friendly people I ever met.

But it is true, I am 100% American, and yet I feel so tied to Ireland (evidenced by my shamrock tattoo). For many families -- such as my mother and her eight siblings -- the Irish tradition is what we know. We've only been in the U.S. for 150 years for heaven's sake. The way I explain it, America is just such a baby country with barely any history (as Europeans remind us all the time!). And yet just like any country we celebrate traditions handed down. Why is my mother's family so proud to be Irish? Well if they weren't, I think it'd be rather flaky that they threw away their heritage so quickly! Gradually these traditions are morphing into their own American version. And perhaps I will dillute my children further from being Irish until there is barely any percentage left, but they will still know what it means to come from Ireland. I think I owe that to my poor farming ancestors who came over on the boat to find a better life!

Enniskillen, Northern Ireland

If You Give a Mouse an Old House...

Just saw the mouse run by. It was either a new one or Ralph got fat and should be called Gus Gus now.
See, you don't think you're going to live in one of those places with furry creatures running around and then you do.
Ugggh.
Oh the joys of living in an ancient city. Rodents were carrying in the plague to homes here before America even "existed."
I'm going to Northern Ireland tomorrow; thank god I can get out of this rodent nest for a while!
I am curled up Indian-style on my bed unable to pack or shower or even walk over to the waste basket and pick up the Post-it note that missed it.
Oh the adventures of living where you can afford to.

A Sad Day

Word of the day: alight
So Merriam-Webster says this word means "to descend" and yet the underground trains are always suggesting you "alight" to go to museums at certain destinations. Kind of weird to descend up, eh?

R.I.P. Heath
I had every intention of a killer blog entry but really all we are talking about is how Heath Ledger died. I broke the news to my housemates and ever since that's really all we can talk about. His last photograph was supposedly taken in London on the set of his latest film.

And of course we already looked at facebook and there are zillions of groups dedicated to his death already. How weird is it that facebook is the first thing you think of to connect with people when anything happens in life? Like, if real tragedy befell us would we bother running out to our neighbors or would we all run into our rooms with our laptops? Not even a question; it is the latter.

I suppose most of you are over social commentary on facebook but I think we have yet to see just how its effects on an entire generation unfold.

I am now watching: Match Point -- Random fact! I live next to the Queen's Club, the tennis court featured in this film:

Courtesy of Wikipedia

My London Family

Word of the day: handbag
People usually tell me they like my “handbag” instead of my purse.

Place of the day: British Museum -- I finally went here and saw sweet ruins from both Ancient Egypt and the Parthenon in Greece.

... and afterward I enjoyed the American atmosphere of wings and big TVs at the Sports Café in Piccadilly Circus. (It helped alleviate my "American in England" crisis for a second.)

My London Family
When you put it like it is -- mice, bad water pressure at times, sharing a room -- it sounds so negative! But living with my new housemates in a long-term hostel for people like me working abroad is making London even better. It's reminiscent of the summer I spent in Chautauqua, New York, living in the basement of a bed and breakfast: sometimes uncomfortable but the best time of my life.

Now I do everything with my housemates and just like me we are scrounging the pounds in the bottom of our purse at all times. On Friday we all went to a bar together in Canary Wharf where one of the housemates works and got 75% off all drinks. On Saturday one of my housemates and I traversed Portobello Road in Notting Hill, which is only a bus ride away. Last night I went clubbing with my roommate and had someone to eat McDonald’s with on the long ride home on the night bus. Today laundry was fun as we waited for it across the street at the pub. Grocery shopping? No worries, we haul them back together. And right now, The Office (which just started airing here!) is on for us to enjoy in the lounge.

Sigh. It’s college all over again. And London is a lot less lonely!

Photo of the week:

These "Blue Men" by Ofra Zimbalista are crawling up the building across from my office on Borough High Street, which used to be a Roman road:

I am now watching: Ratatouille -- an adorable movie I just watched with the roomies! Well, it’s too bad we can’t just be friends with our mice and let them cook for us.

Financial Blogging is Fun Too!

Word of the day: precis
My boss told me to "precis" something yesterday. He meant summarize. I love this word now, because its basically a fancy word for what I do.

I'm Punny
After I left my days writing punny headlines all summer at Columbus Alive, an entertainment weekly in Columbus (stuff like this) in order to do the exact opposite at Global Custodian (on my first day, my boss says "no puns and all that crap"), I thought I would never again use the idiom dictionary again. But alas, today I started my first post on the GC blog and I found the use for puns again.

I decided my first weekly post would be about the Citi meltdown going on, and I surprised myself at how much fun I was having doing it ... Umm apparently blogging really is my journalistic sweet tooth. And then like a cherry on top, I got to come up with the punniest title I think even I have ever done:

"Sacks in the Citi."

I am now listening to: Radiohead--the band everyone always told me I'd like and I never got around to liking. Which brings me to the non-story of the day: So today I was on my way home and saw a blurb that Radiohead was playing for free at Rough Trade record store! So I jumped off the tube and went back the other way and made it to the East End a half-hour later! This was going to be my magical London moment! Wish I could say it were really true, but alas, it was an invite-only event. But that's OK; it was a nice day to take a walk around London.

Stereotypical American

I finally had the guts to ask someone what the stereotypical American is. It was my Canadian roommate Kendra, and I thank her for being willing to tell me the truth of what that stereotype is, and I promise she is a nice person. Her response was hard to hear but not surprising to me:

self-centered
arrogant
stupid
fat
war-loving mongrels

Being the only American in the room is not something you want to be in any other country but America.

The truth is, I don't know how to be American. I want to do well at it. I want people to stop and say, "Well, there was that American once who I really liked." I throw a lot of Midwestern charm into it, I try my best. But at the end of the day, I think I, too, will always be so "American." And what is so bad about that?

Over here, it is OK to say "I hate Americans." No one will stone you. Not even the Americans. People don't feel bad stereotyping them; it's not taboo the way it is to stereotype other cultures. (Does that seem wrong? But then again, I am used to America's p.c. culture, which isn't the case over here.) Sure, I hope they don't really hate Americans, but nonetheless, it doesn't shock me to hear. A lot of times when I am making friends with someone who isn't American, such as my new roommate, I feel the need to make a joke about how I also don't like America.

But the joke is getting old.

Sure, I do criticize the country openly and honestly a lot, but I love criticizing it so much because I love it so much. The mishandling of the war in the Iraq really eats away at me. The fact that health care is so messed up and that my homeland eats the worlds energy eats at me too. The fact that people are starving and one of last election's biggest issues was about defining marriage gets to me as well.

But it irritates a lot of people. A lot of Americans. We care about this stuff; we are good people. And at the end of the day, I am so proud to be from a country where I have been able to voice my disgust with it without getting put through a paper shredder. And a part of me is sick of the American hatred and generalizations and can't help but sense that people see us like the head cheerleader who they hate and envy all at once.

My friend Joe points out it's not fair for many countries to criticize us given some of their own track records. After all, Europeans have been fighting all kinds of ridiculous wars for thousands of years. I won't let my country be deduced to a scapegoat for all the world's problems. Someone told me today that Sept. 11 was a conspiracy caused by Bush. That's unfair. We might talk loud and eat too much McDonald's, but we don't crash planes into our own buildings. And I can't help but get angry at the American haters who have never met one. Kind of like the Muslim haters in America. So now I hate all those haters... I HATE this.

And yeah, Americans irritate me too. Like packs of Texas girls on the train from the airport flaunting there cultural ignorance. Ignorance: I am ashamed of the ignorance the most. I bristle because I know what everyone is thinking and also because I am annoyed that they are talking loudly on public transportation and that Daddy gave them the money to travel so young. I want to cover them up and hide them before anyone else sees them. They can irritate me, America can irritate me, but having them irritate the people outside the land of the free? I can't have that.

Maybe being an American in another country is a good learning experience. Surely it's nothing like how my Irish ancestors must've felt. Or what black Americans went through. Or how Muslim Americans felt after Sept. 11. And what was that? Probably similar to how I feel:

Sad. Introspective. Defensive. Guilty. Alone. Confused. Angry. Self-loathing. Hateful. Useless. Annoyed. Uncomfortable. Self-pitying. Offended. Determined.

Back to Work

Phrase of the day: "Have a..."
If you are in England, you don't "take" a shower, you "have" a shower. And if you are stressed you could... have a cry. Or a smoke. Or a holiday. Or, of course, a tea.

Place of the day: Lucky Voice, a private karaoke facility in Soho I visited with my housemates on Saturday. It was totally in a posh box like in the Japanese movies!

Back in the world of financial journalism...
I was dreading going back to work after such a nice holiday, but I forgot that work makes one feel accomplished. And I forgot the delights of financial journalism, such as the stories that go on for a month with a different headline every day. It goes something like this:

Monday: Bank X is Projected for a Write-Down that Could Result in A,B,C
Tuesday: Bank X to Announce Write-Down that Could Result in A,B,C
Wednesday: Bank X Announces Write-Down that Could Result in A,B,C
Thursday: Bank X's Write-Down Results in A,B,C

You get the idea!

Today Citi was in the news because they are rumored to possibly be selling Smith Barney, where my brother works. But of course they will announce it tomorrow. It is fun that my brother and I actually have overlapping worlds sometimes! (He played with cash registers; I played with chalkboards.)

I am now reading: Chasing Down the Dawn: Stories from the Road by Jewel
This was the perfect book for the plane ride over to keep me striving for the "life uncommon."

From Heartland to Motherland

Friday, January 11 in the Cincinnati airport -- Well it’s about that time to start blogging again, and what better time than in the airport, where I feel like I spend a large chunk of my life these days?

Word of day: fringe
This is the new development of hair on my face that Americans call “bangs.” [My Canadian roommate Kendra later informs me that Canadians say "bangs" and "fringe" to mean two different styles.]

From Heartland to Motherland
I have probably left home for weeks at a time at least 30 times since I originally left home for school at age 18. My discovery: It does in fact get easier in some ways (you can up your tolerance over time from 300 miles to 3,000 miles away). However, there is a certain threshold of ease when leaving home; it never feels like a walk in the park. Especially when you have to see that proud/sad face on your 115-pound mother each time you head for the airport security line or pull out of the driveway…Sigh.

Well anyway, let’s get to the part where I mention the a few things that culture shocked me when I got back in the old U.S.A.:

1. Baggy clothing. I forgot that American men don’t wear skinny jeans the way those British boys do. (And don’t even suggest that they should or you are in for an interesting response.)

2. Lack of escalator etiquette. Here I was in a rush to get to my connecting flight in Atlanta and these oblivious Americans are hanging all over the escalator as if you are actually supposed to stand there and let it whisk you up to another level.

3. Every other kind of etiquette. My mom just sneezed and a random person said “bless you.” I feel like if someone did that in London the sneezer would think “What’s it to you??” (But then again, talking to strangers is so Midwestern. Right now I am in the Midwest but taking a flight to London – should I talk to a stranger or not?) [Note, it's not that English people aren't helpful when they need to be -- such as the two gentlemen who helped me with my bags after this post was written -- but they do these things with as few words as possible.

4. Bigness. Everywhere. The toilets are extra large and to me signify an often wasteful society. The SUVs rule the big fat highways. The people look like they had too much Taco Bell. (I don’t blame them, as I got it twice in one day at one point).

5. Hippies. I went back to one of my favorite bars in Athens, Ohio, to see Southeast Engine, a now natioanlly touring band born and bred in Southeast Ohio and a college favorite of mine. As I looked around the bar, I was reminded that the look of the “indy kid” in America is a lot more bohemian than the British. British = mohawks. Ohioans = dreadlocks … or something unwashed and resembling them.

Well I had my fill of Ohio, but man I forgot how much I love this darn place. I’m going to have to tear myself away from watching endless election speculation on CNN to get back to the “real world” of writing about global custody in the hustle and bustle of pinstripes that is old London town.

I am now reading: I just finished the book England, England by Julian Barnes. It was tough to get into, but the premise was creative and jam-packed with satire: An English amusement park is developed on an island outside of England, giving tourists the opportunity to see everything that is quintessentially English without having to run all over England. The thesis: Perhaps people prefer replicas to actuality. A cynical thought to have as I take the time to fly all the way over to the real England.