Cross cultural comparisons

A Tri-Cities area chicken farmer featured in the latest round of the US version of Survivor. It was filmed in China. And here’s how Steve “Chicken” Morris summed up his observations.

“There’s no biscuits and gravy, and there’s no cornbread and beans. And not too many front porches,” he said. “A very unusual culture it is.”

Well, there you go. Genius. You could say the same about England. And Steve – you should see what they do to ice tea here!

(Of course, I do some pretty darn good cornbread and beans – if I do say so myself.)

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Hat tip to Big Orange Michael’s TV coverage at Music City Bloggers.

This is your Jerry Springer moment

A couple of years ago the Vol-in-Law and I went to see Jerry Springer, the Opera in the West End. The content was about as blasphemous and offensive as it comes, but all good fun – really. Much more fun than the Jerry Springer episodes currently aired on British cable which all seem to run like this:

Guest 1 tells Jerry and the assembled baying crowd a secret which will upset Guest 2 if Guest 2 has any shred of decency.

Guest 2 comes out on stage bewildered and bemused and bracing for the worst (as one Guest 2 said in a show I recently watched – You didn’t bring me on the Jerry show to tell me good news?)

Guest 1 -suddenly hesitant – reveals all with the encouragement of Jerry.

Guest 2 lets fly with a flury of ineffective punches and security steps in just that little bit too late.

The secret varies – but only slightly – from show to show. Guest 1 is:

• a lesbian sleeping with her cousin
• a boyfriend sleeping with the cross-dressing best friend of his girlfriend
• a bog boned gal is sleeping with anyone who has a six pack and twenty-five dollars cash much to the shock of her husband.

Back to the opera – one of the numbers – which becomes a bit of a leitmotif – was This is Your Jerry Springer Moment – essentially describing that point in time when your life becomes so trashy that your role as Guest 1 or Guest 2 is instantly defined.

I thought about this, because well, I’m watching a lot of daytime tv these days and because of the comments about Australian sex workers on this post – which reminded me of a moment in time when I told a friend “Man, you coulda a been on Jerry Springer with that tale.” Which, in retrospect, may not have been the most supportive thing I could have said.

Turns out this friend of ours – an Australian – had a girlfriend who turned out to be a sex worker. Well, he being the understanding sort who always saw the better side of people he said that while this needn’t be the end of their relationship – she did need to find a new line of employment. Which she did not. And then there was another whole sad sorry tale of a pimping boyfriend and an abortion and a legal consultation – and even though this had happened some time before he related the tale and in a land far away – it was obviously still very painful. And I said “Man, you coulda been on Jerry Springer with that tale.”

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I’ve racked my brain, but I don’t think I’ve ever had a truly Jerry Springer moment. I did have a boyfriend who cheated on me – but she was just a normal girl (hmmmm…as far as I know). Oh, but looking back on it – she did live in a trailer – so maybe it was just a brush with a Jerry Springer moment.

I did meet my husband through the Internet – but that was like sooo mid-90s that it barely attracts comment these days.

I dream of Jeanie

Daytime tv. Gotta love it.

Today I saw the pilot episodes of I dream of Jeannie. It had a different intro, but most of the recognisable characters seemed to be there. The Major (as played by Larry Hagman) was a Captain. And given how goofy he was in the opening episodes, I’m not really sure how he got that promotion.

I remember really liking the show when I was young, but I’d never seen the opening episodes. I’m not sure how the series got commissioned, but that Sidney Sheldon must have been a pretty persuasive producer.

In the 2nd episode, Jeannie magics herself and the Major Captain back 2000 years to ancient Baghdad. But everyone’s already Muslim (Islam isn’t yet 2000 years old). It was quite interesting to see the Major being held captive by a barbaric, giant Baghdadi. It all seemed quite dark and prophetic, in a way.

Eurovision semi-finals – the results

Tonight my husband and I watched the Eurovision song-contest semi-finals. ‘Cause really you just can’t get enough cheesy Euro-pop.

Here’s my take:

Bulgaria – great if you don’t mind the shrieking – they seem to have a nice line in trick drumming and chain mail vests

Israel – apparently a controversial entry “Push the Button” might be about nukes or it might be about sex. It’s appallingly bad.

Cyprus – do you really think singing in French will make the French vote for you. As far as I can tell it’s a recitation of the first two French lessons you’ll ever have – Comme ci, Comme ca

Belarus – nice touch with the 007 moves – the lead singer’s claim to fame is that he looks like Princess Diana in the face.

Iceland – an unhappy halfway house between ballad rock and Eurovision pop – sample lyric “A tiger trapped in a cage”

Georgia – I had no idea that the first generation Klingons were based on the Georgians. This isn’t bad – and I love the men dancing with swords. Careful!.

Montenegro – this is their first time competing as an independent nation. It’s not bad guitar rock – sample lyrics Kochi biscochi, crochi biscochi – is this a song about Italian cookies?

Switzerland – apparently a favorite to break through the semi-finals and win the whole thing – they’ve got a whole gothic ensemble onstage and their song is called “Vampires are alive”. That song would make me want to put a stake through my heart. The ViL says that apparently Swiss vampires are very orderly.

Moldova – lots of tossing drapery about. I’m not sure how the singer manages to keep her trousers up. Perhaps they’re glued on just below the pubic bone. Sample lyric “Never let nobody in“. Sugar, ain’t nobody want to go there…to Moldova I mean.

Netherlands – classic Eurovision bubblegum fare, and good stuff if you like leggy Dutch women pararding around in high heels and white shorts. I imagine this will go through.

Albania – the song: “Hear my Pleas”, the singer: a chubby Albanian waiter, the back up singer’s dress: wow, that’s some fluffy yellow meringue.

Denmark – a pink be-feathered drag queen sings “Drama Queen” – sample lyric: “I’m your drama queen tonight, everything’s gonna be alright” A favorite to go through, apparently. I think it’s dreadful.

Croatia – I liked it. I did wonder how many people their lead singer had killed in the war, though.

Poland – Black Eyed Peas meets the Beastie Boys in the Baltic with girls in cages. Sample lyric (and pretty much the only one) “Everybody has the right to party.”

Serbia – brings us the little known genre of Balkan lesbian pop balladry. The ViL says “If we knew what she was singing it would probably be a lot less impressive – as it is – your mind is free to roam.” Her back up singers writhe over each other in the weirdest, stiffest way.

Czech Republic – make their debut entry here. The ViL says “I’m still thinking about the Serbians”. The Czechs should have waited until next year. Dreadful.

Portugal – I like it. It’s very scorchio. I like a man who’s not afraid to outline his packet in pearlescent white satin and wear a low cut shirt made from net curtains and wave a really big fan.

Former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia – even Prince couldn’t carry off using “former” in his stage name. Sample lyric: “Music is the only world for me, in my world we live in harmony”

Norway – a nice little salsa number – those Norwegians – loco! Why aren’t they moving their hips? The ViL says “They’re Norwegians, They’re like Brits, but without our laid back funky cool.” I’ll give them credit for two onstage costume changes – including one that might have precipated a major wardrobe malfunction.

Malta – wowza – something for the laaadies. Shirtless, buff background dancers sashaying around with fans and violins. Sample lyric “Loving you gives me vertigo”. I really hope they make it through.

Andorra – I think this might be emo – in really bad English accented Spanish.

Hungary – a bluesy number. The singer is not wearing any shoes. She’s hugging a bus stop prop. The ViL says this sounds like an actual real song.

Estonia – the singer is a cross between Pink and Posh Spice and she sings just about as well as the famous Mrs Beckham.

Belgium – who knew that Belgians would try to be that funky?

Slovenia – Goth meets Evita. The BBC announcer describes her outfit “She’s wearing a bad leather corset.”

Turkey – No, just no. A new level of sleaziness. But at least the Turks know how to move their hips. Sample lyric: “lovey dovey all the time, I’ve got lots of cake for you”. You have cake? Why didn’t you say so in the first place?

Austria – Rhinestone hoodie lying on a bed of red be- feathered back-up dancers. The male ones have bejewelled codpieces.

And finally…

Latvia – I really don’t know what to say. The 5 Latvian tenors, wearing top hats. Are they singing in Italian?

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And the winners, chosen by phone in voters, are (inexplicably):

1. Belarus
2. FYR Macedonia
3. Slovenia
4. Hungary
5. Georgia
6. Latvia
7. Serbia
8. Bulgaria
9. Turkey
10. Moldova

Fun, fun, fun

Anglofille highlights a new theme park on her blog – Dickens World. I couldn’t be bothered to follow the link. In fact, I said so on her site:

OK, I’m not even going to follow that link, but just imagine – imagine what Dickens World would be like. Oh, the street urchins, the squalor, the bleakness, the pick pockets, the long hours, cold rooms and utter desperation…

Paah, why leave London?

I mean what’s next? Flannery O’Connor Land, the Faulkner Fun Fayre*, Dorothy Parker’s kiddie adventure playground?

Although at least at Dickens World, you’ll have a bit of fun at the end of the day.

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*turn left upon entering Yawknapatopha County, from any direction

Hogarthian

On Friday, the Vol-in-Law and I went to see the Hogarth exhibit at the Tate Britain. It’ll be on for almost another month, but judging by the crowds on a wet, non-holiday, Friday afternoon, you might be well advised to go before the last weekend it’s open.

William Hogarth is often remembered as a cartoonist, a spoofer of London life, using charactitures and copper plate etchings to jab at the depravity of the city. He’s famous for The Harlot’s Progress (a sweet country lass comes to London, is corrupted, becomes a prostitute, catches the pox and dies) and The Rake’s Progress (a young country gentleman comes into his fortune, goes to London, becomes depraved, loses his money and ends up in a lunatic asylum) and etchings like Gin Lane. But Hogarth was also a splendid portraitist and painter of historical scenes and the street scene of London, too. (Like The Shrimp Girl – below).

Hogarth is often remembered as a moralist – capturing the inevitability of decline once one has partaken of sin. But like many moralists, he seemed to be praising virtue in the abstract but found it dull in practice. Hence, many of his images are interesting because they revel in the depravity – and his “secret” attraction to the slimy underbelly of London becomes all to readily apparent. And despite highlighting London’s many faults, you can see he loved the city – just like I have oft found myself excited by my return to the city – “Ahhh, London – welcome me back into your loving arms, ya dirty old whore.”

The exhibit itself was fantastic and seemed to capture the breadth of Hogarth’s work in room after room. (In contrast to another exhibit currently on – Renoir’s Landscapes which was so brief it seemed a bit of an expensive cheek). In fact, there was so much, I really couldn’t take it all in – particulary because you actually need to stop and take in the rich detail of his work.

Hogarth was particularly obsessed by the fallen woman – and I felt rather conspicuous with my pregnant belly, especially since I have just taken off my wedding ring (it still fits, but it’s a little tight now and I have a fear of having to cut it off should my hands swell more).

Since visiting the exhibit – the Vol-in-Law has been describing things as Hogarthian. For example, I tried on a rather unfortunate shade of lipstick yesterday – which the ViL said made me look “a bit Hogarthian” – and I don’t think he meant the country lass before the fall or the earthy vibrancy of the shrimp girl, above.

sexism in the UK

Jen – fellow expat blogger and still my nearest blogging neighbour (though she’s moved a little farther down the line) says:

there’s still a lot about the u.k. that is inherently sexist

Yep, human condition, I think.

some of it is more overt (the topless photos inside the “newspapers”) and some of it is more subtle (the use of the endearment “love” in a pejorative and belittling way). margaret thatcher notwithstanding, there are still a lot of obvious inequalities and insidious patriarchal attitudes that pervade the culture. i was quite struck by it when i first arrived, and i am sad to say, it has since faded into background noise. because, well, i live here – and you just can’t spend all day every day in a black cloud of righteous indignation.

Nope. You can’t. Plus some of this “background sexism” is obvious only when it’s fresh. I think there’s loads in American culture that we often just don’t pick up on because we’re raised with it and used to it. When you come in new to a place, the cultural assumptions are a lot more striking. Besides, I think the “love” thing is kinda sweet. As it’s used in Yorkshire, you can tell it’s not sexist – men, women, small children, the odd surly teenager are all called “duck” or “love” by men and women alike. The use is fading, but I still think everyday endearments are, well, endearing. Like anything, it can be abused and used in pejorative fashion.

Personally, I feel a bit freer here and less constrained by sexual and social stereotypes. Maybe that’s living in London, maybe that’s age and maturity. Maybe I’ve lived here so long I really don’t notice anymore. All I know is that my home culture is still pretty darn sexist.

Culture, culture, culture

My brother and I went to Italy a few years ago. It was after my grandfather died and having lived with him (and my mom) after my parents split up, I think we felt extra close to him. But we weren’t his children, either and it was difficult to express and for others to fully empathise with how we were feeling. So we went off, on our own, to Italy – as one does. And in the process we discovered that we could travel well together, a happy thing.

We had a great time – all that culture and pasta was very therapeutic. And I think we both liked Florence. But the problem with Florence is that it’s just too amazing, too full of fabulous things to see. I love museums, I love art, but even my eyes were starting to curl. Oh look – I’ve seen that painting in many an art history text, (yawn) look it’s another Great Master. Oh yes, this square is perfect in proportion – yes, I do have an odd feeling of peace. Ho hum. I think that’s because Michelangelo designed this place, too.

We were outside the Museum of the Duomo (Cathedral), leaning against concrete traffic bollards and sucking on Marloboros – and I was trying to convince my brother to go in to this one last museum. He was reluctant. A British tourist stopped just next to us to light his cigarette – and I asked him – as one can do in the brotherhood of smokers “Hey, what’s in there? Is it worth going in?”

“Well, there’s some Michelangelo, Donatello and Raphael. Yeah, it’s worth it,” he said with a shrug – probably thinking “philistine Americans”, but sounding a little culture weary himself.

“Hey, VolBro, it’s got three of the four Teenaged Mutant Ninja Turtles, it’s gotta be worth seeing,” I said.

So in we went. And I can’t say I saw things with exactly fresh eyes. But the thing about great, truly great works of art, is that even when you’ve ceased to be amazed by merely the wonderful you can still be stopped in your tracks by a truly powerful work that can speak to you.

This one did. I saw it in expat blogger Anglofille’s Flickr photostream this morning. And of course a sneaky pic can never have the power of the real thing, but it did take me back to an August afternoon in Florence this gray and cool London morning.

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Rather interestingly, she her latest post is about her grandfather, gone 9 years and their connection that remains.