Random Thoughts...

So I know it's another update from me, Kate. This blog was conceptualized as a joint one by both me and Matt so that no matter who visits out of our friends and family, they'll know one of us. The problem is, Matt works a lot harder than I do, but more importantly the problem is Matt doesn't like writing unless he has an excellent topic. I, on the other hand, will write pointless drivel whether its a good topic or not.

So unfortunately you're stuck with me and my thoughts again. And this will probably be just like the title says, random thoughts.

Yesterday was our 4 month anniversary. Yes, as newlyweds we still celebrate each month that we've been married. And we try to do something a little extra special on that day. Nothing huge, because that would get expensive to do every month, but something out of our normal routine. On Monday, which I know was actually the 25th, there was no work, it was a bank holiday so we took advantage of it. We slept in (Matt hasn't slept in, in weeks because of the Olympics, they started so early here), and had lunch at Nando's, my favorite place to eat (and it's a lot of food for not a lot of money, which we love) and then saw a matinée of Get Smart. Which we loved.

Of course we couldn't go all the way to the O2 center without grocery shopping, so we did that as well. Though it wasn't quite our usual trip, because we tried online shopping over the weekend and loved it. You order the food online and they deliver it. It's great for dry products etc. But we still like to choose our own meat and veg, so we still went to Sainsburys (we ordered online from Tescos, can we say the best of both worlds?).

I'm sad the Olympics are over. I love them, especially the summer Olympics. Several times we had two computers watching stuff online and the TV going. As I've been writing my dissertation, I've had it in the background and really enjoyed it. Except Badminton and Equestrian. Yuck.

I haven't updated many people on our celebrity sightings. Over the last few months, here's who we've seen.

At a production on the West End we sat two rows up from:


That's Brian May from Queen, if you don't recognize him. And while walking home from Tesco Express right in our neighborhood I walked right by:


He was looking confused, like he was trying to find an address. And he's shorter in real life. And when we saw Dark Knight, we were actually in the same theater as this guy:

Stephen Merchant is soooo tall in real life. It's hard to miss him in a crowd.

So there's the scoop of what's happening in our life. It's going well. My dissertation has been sent off to my sister to look it over and it gets handed in next week. Then I have to stop being slothful and go get a real job.

Oh yeah, and we got some Ben and Jerry's on sale. So dessert time is party time in our house.

Happy Birthday Mak!

28 years ago today, my 2nd little sister and the fifth girl (in a row) in our family was born. And even though our parents said we could name her, part of me is still a little resentful that they vetoed my favorite name.

So I'm taking it back.

Happy Birthday, Kitchen!

Public Service Announcement.

I don't think Badminton is a very sexy sport. If you're a guy and you play badminton professionally, I don't think you should lead off with that as your opening line to the ladies. In fact, I would try to avoid it for as long as possible. I know it's tempting to bring it up, but here's what could potentially happen:

Badminton Guy (spots a girl he wants to pick up, saunters over to her stretching): Boy am I tired.

Hot Girl (sensing this is a line, but still intrigued): Why is that?

BG (casually): I just got back from Beijing, and I'm still not over the jet lag.

HG (interested): Beijing? Why?

BG (nonchalantly): I was there for the Olympics.

HG (very interested at this point): Really? Are you an athlete?

BG (tries to look modest): Yeah, I am.

HG (salivating): Really? What sport?

BG (smugly): Badminton.

HG (suddenly distant): Hmmm...that's really...well...I didn't realize it was an...hmmm...that's really...I have to go.

And of course she hurries off. See, what Badminton guy should've done is been a little more vague, try to make a game of it and get her to guess or maybe just casually mention it's the game with a net. That could be tennis, volleyball, soccer or basketball. Plenty of sexy sports to not drive away the Hot Girl.

So there you go badminton players everywhere. You can't help that you play a lame sport that most people forget even exists. You can't help that your skills have placed you in that situation. Good for you for making the most of it! But just some friendly advice, don't count on it to impress too many people.

Good luck tiger! Or should I say birdie?

If This is Sick, Then I Don't Want to Be Well...

There's a fever going on here at the Ngai household. A very serious fever. A fever that is recurring, but only every couple of years. What's it called you ask? I'll tell you: Olympic Fever. We love the Olympics. And pretty much everything that has to do with the Olympics. Unfortunately, since we live here in the UK, we don't get as much coverage on our respective countries we would like, but we have been pretty impressed with how well the BBC has covered the events, both online and on the telly. Of course, lots of time is devoted to the sports that Brits tend to succeed in, such as horse riding and badminton. But, even then, the Fever has hit us so hard, we'll even watch that, well at least badminton anyway. In fact, at one point this weekend we had both our laptops up, each with it's own event on the screen as well as the BBC broadcast. And last night, we had the US v China game on live on the computer, and we were watching badminton on the tv. Yeah, the fever has us hard.

While both Matt and I are affected by it, I have to admit that my case isn't quite as serious as Matt's. In fact, despite the fact that he's Australian through and through, lately he's been claiming China quite a bit. Forget the fact that Hong Kong has it's own team, and that's where his family is from. It would be the same as me claiming victory every time team GB did well, because of all my British ancestors. So I don't think it's fair that he can disregard China for four years and then all the sudden 'feel his Chinese blood stirring' when they do well at the Olympics.

But that might just be me.

This is the first time I've ever watched the Olympics outside of the US, and I miss all the national pride and bragging that comes with the sport. I didn't appreciate how nice it was to be in smug agreement with the TV about how great my country is, I mean, if you can't be extra patriotic in during the Olympics then when can you? During the 4th of July? Hah, I don't think so!

But all this exposure to the Brits take on the Olympics has made me consider something. As mentioned above, I'm being exposed to events that don't get as heavily featured in the states, maybe because the US doesn't do as well in those events, or maybe because they aren't as sexy as the other events or maybe because they shouldn't actually be in the Olympics. In this case, the answer is all three. Yes, you read correctly. I'd like to put forth that there is an Olympic sport that shouldn't actually be in the Olympics.

I haven't discussed my theory with anyone yet and I may get blasted. I may be sleeping on the couch tonight for saying something against the sacred Olympics, but I feel very strongly about this and think it needs to be said. So here it is:

I don't think equestrian should be an Olympic event. I base this reasoning on purely the reason because the horse is the one that does all the work. I'm not say equestrians shouldn't compete at all, but it shouldn't be in the Olympics. Now, I've been watching a few events and because of that, I've declared myself an expert.

In every other Olympic event, the competitor actually has to do something. In hurdles they have to jump, in running, they have to run. In equestrian, they what? Sit on top of the horse. Personally, I don't think it's fair that the rider gets the medal. It should be the horse. The horse is the one doing all the running and jumping, not the rider. Basically the rider dresses up in fine clothes and sits on top of the horse. Afterwards they get off and collect their medals and the horse gets what? Extra oats with its dinner? Is that fair? I'd like to put forward that it is not. Of course the horse would have to be born and bred in the actual country it was competing for, or at least have proof of citizenship if otherwise. Now don't give me those arguments that riding a horse and steering it are hard, they're not. Not like doing it yourself, for example. I'm just saying...

















But regardless about my feelings about equestrian, I continue to revel in the Olympicness of it all. I was dazzled and wowed by the Opening Ceremonies, which was only dampened slightly when I heard that the footstep fireworks across Bejing were actually CGI'd, and I'm looking more forward than ever about being in London during the 2012 Olympics.

Well, except for the equestrian of course...

It's All Oz To Me!

As the five of you who read this blog know, I'm married to one of those durn foreigners. However, since neither of us is actually from the country we're currently living in, you'd think I'd be better and not call Matt a durn foreigner. But I'm not a good person, and I am an American, so I was raised to believe that anyone who isn't American is...you guessed it...a durn foreigner!

Anyway, on to the reason for my post. Occasionally Matt and I have some issues with miscommunication. I know that's not uncommon for married couples, or any couples in general, but our problems with communicating are a little different from the norm, we sometimes have a language barrier.

"But he's from Australia and you're from America!" you cry out in protest "You both speak English!"

I know that. Except for the fact that I speak what I like to call 'normal English' and he speaks what I call 'crazy English'. I'll give you an example.

Before Matt and I got married, we were discussing his suit and what kind he'd wear, shoes etc. And we were discussing whether or not he'd need a new belt or if he wouldn't have one etc. Matt then looks at me and says:

"Well, I could wear a jock strap."

Now I don't know about you, but I'm a good little girl, not experienced as some in the ways of men. And I couldn't for the life of me figure out the point of wearing a jock strap on your wedding day. Would he need that much support? Did it have something to do with the oh so anticipated wedding night? What kind of weirdo was I marrying? For one of the few times in my life, I was speechless. But I managed to croak out one word "Why?"

He looked back at me curiously, wondering about my strange reaction (and probably wondering why he was able to get a word in edgewise) "To hold up my pants, of course."

Well, now you can imagine the things that were racing through my brain. But luckily, I remembered that Matt doesn't speak 'normal English'. "What do you think a jock strap is?" I asked. "You know, those things that go over your shoulder and hold up your pants."

He was talking about suspenders. Now I knew the Brits called them braces, but I had no idea the Aussies called them 'jock straps'. Once I explained what my definition of a jock strap, he understood my shock. And we laughed. Lots. In fact we're still laughing.

So things like that come up, usually it's no big deal. I do like to tease Matt every now and then about some of the crazy words that Aussies use for normal things. He never fails to roll his eyes and tell me I'm crazy and that Aussies don't use any crazy words for anything (is it just me or is the word of this post 'crazy'?).

Now, loyal reader. I bring this debate to you. Please, send your friends around and have them contribute their opinions as well. Just make sure they're not Australians, I do want to win this, after all.

Everyone is familiar with some Aussie slang, and not a summer goes by without someone somewhere joking about throwing shrimp on the barbie. That's not so crazy. Aussies are notorious for shortening words, mosquitoes become 'mozzies', and breakfast turns into 'brekkie'. That's not too hard to figure out, nor is it that unusual.

But it does get worse. As an example, I'm going to post the first verse and chorus of a very famous and well loved Aussie folk song called "Waltzing Matilda". Matt sang it for me once, and if you're like me, you won't have a blooming clue what it's about: Here, I even found a video on YouTube of the song, which I think is a great version, and it gives you an idea of what it sounds like.



Once a jolly swagman camped by a billabong,
Under the shade of a Coolibah tree,
And he sang as he watched and waited till his billy boil,
You'll come a Waltzing Matilda with me.

Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda, You'll come a Waltzing Matilda with me,
And he sang as he watched and waited till his billy boil
You'll come a Waltzing Matilda with me.

Down came a jumbuck to drink at that billabong
Up jumped the swagman and grabbed him with glee,
And he sang as he shoved that jumbuck in his tucker bag
You'll come a Waltzing Matilda with me.

Chorus

Up rode the squatter mounted on his thorough-bred
Down came the troopers One Two Three
Whose that jolly jumbuck you've got in your tucker bag
You'll come a Waltzing Matilda with me.

Chorus

Up jumped the swagman sprang in to the billabong
You'll never catch me alive said he,
And his ghost may be heard as you pass by that billabong
You'll come a Waltzing Matilda with me.

Now, obviously you're able to discern some of what the words mean, but if you say it out loud to yourself, you'll feel exactly what it's like to speak in 'crazy English'. Don't get me wrong, I really like the song, who wouldn't want to say such fun words as 'billabong' and 'coolibah' and 'jolly jumpbuck', it's like a fairy language!So I ask you, is this normal? Can you honestly understand most of what you're reading/saying? Am I wrong here? Who's with me? Unfortunately for me, as well as all who know him, my husband is an extremely stubborn man. No matter what I say, he's convinced his English is just fine. In fact, he tried to turn it back on me and say that we 'mericans have slang that he doesn't understand.

Guess what? It's just not true, I sang for him our best known and loved folk song, Yankee Doodle Dandy. The only word he could jump on when hearing that song is the word 'Dandy'. I challenged him that more people would know what a 'dandy' was than a 'billybong' or a 'jumpbuck' or a 'swagman'. So tell me, am I right? What do you think? Am I crazy? Or is it him? Remember, no other Aussies are allowed to post...you know, because of the durn foreigner thing.

Invaded!!

So I have a problem. Actually we have a problem. Matt and myself. I will speak for both of us from here on. I know, it's crazy, but I feel confident in doing so, because Matt and I have spoken about this subject several times and we're completely in agreement about it. Our problem is unfortunately a problem with infestation. And we're not the only ones in our building suffering from it. Nope, this infestation problem affects anyone who lives in our building or works in the business next door. It can also affect anyone who comes to visit us or anyone in our building. Regrettably, this infestation can't be cured by spraying pesticides or setting out traps, though the thought has crossed everyone's mind in my building to give it a try. Nope, this particular breed of pests just has to be tolerated. Though the infestation does settle down marginally once the summer ends.

I know, as you're reading this, you're probably worried that you might have a similar infestation. Or perhaps there's a chance you could be invaded with hoards of these pests. I have to say, it's possible, but not probable. This particular breed of pest comes depending on where you live, rather than the type of place you live in.

Are you ready for the name of this horrible, annoying soul suckers? Okay, here it is:

tourists

Yes, the breed I'm speaking about are tourists. We happen to live literally right next door to a very hot tourist spot. We get tourist groups congregating right outside our building, people graffiti-ing on the front walls of the business next door (and unbeknownst to them, the 'art' and 'words' get painted over every two months, so their loving tribute isn't actually there for ever and always, I'm sorry to be the one to break the news) and the worst part, stopping traffic. Unfortunately this 'hot spot' aka breeding ground for tourists is right in the middle of a road. And not just any road. A very busy road. A road with lots of traffic. Traffic that likes to honk because people are standing in the middle of the road, trying to recreate that very famous picture that took place in that spot many, many years ago.

Honestly, the tourists didn't bother me so much. I mean, I myself have been a tourist several times and have probably acted inappropriately once or twice. And granted, when we moved here, it was in the off season and there weren't nearly as many, but we thought they were kind of cute. We laughed to each other fairly smugly that we didn't have to pose for pictures, that we crossed that very street everyday, at least twice. We laughed at the earnest tourists and their attempts to cross the busy street. They were like little children, who don't realize how the world works yet. They were cute, and they were endearing, and yeah, we felt like big shots.

However, the summer started and our few tourists grew to several tourists (and when I say several, I don't think it's an exaggeration to say there are at least over a hundred a day). Every day. All day. And the honking of the traffic increased. And the annoyance of the tourists increased. And yeah, in order to maintain our sanity, we don't politely wait for them to finish taking their picture before we cross. No, now we just cross whether they're done or not. We don't want to be rude, it's just that if we stand there, we run the risk of a) being thought of as one of the Invading Ones and b) waiting there all day. That's not an exaggeration, seriously there are that many tourists.

The main problem with the pests isn't that they want to recreate a great picture, heck I'm a fan of the picture and want to recreate it myself someday. But there's a time and place. First of all, since this isn't an actual 'designated tourist' site, there's no type of regulation or instructions. People don't realize when they're at what's called a 'zebra crossing', cars have to stop to let you pass. When there's no light, like in this situation, the pedestrian always, always has the right of way. Well, a good recreation of The Picture doesn't have cars in it. So you get tourists standing there, as if they're waiting to cross, the cars stop, just like they're supposed to, and the tourists just wave their hands trying to encourage the cars to continue driving. That's illegal for the cars to do. And it causes the cars to pile up, honk their horns and all sorts of confusion runs riot.

Sometimes you get people who aren't such purists about whether there are cars in their picture or not and so they'll cross. The problem then is, that they stop in the middle of the road while, trying to get in the 'pose' while they get their picture taken. We seriously saw this happen the other day and there were a good six cars on either side waiting and honking. And the people were just standing there, posed. It was a very ridiculous situation and we didn't blame the cars honking one bit.

So if you're so inclined to become one of these mighty invaders and you know (or figured out from my not so cryptic descriptions) where I'm talking about. Let me give you a few helpful hints. We've already covered that cars have to stop, it's the law. Well, if you're going to take the picture, have your photographer in position and when you're ready, stand next to the road. When the cars stop cross just like you would. It's even okay to take a slightly (note the key word is slightly) slower pace, but always keep moving. If you don't want cars in your picture, either wait it out and cross when there is a slow down in traffic (rare, it's a busy road) or come at a time when there's not much traffic. One time we've found that is really good is Sunday morning. Every morning when we go to church, we leave around 8am, and the road is absolutely empty. Of both cars and tourists. It's the perfect chance to get that 'perfect' picture.

Oh and if you happen to come at the same time as everyone else and you're holding up traffic and your picture gets ruined by someone who crossed while you did carrying toilet paper. Yeah, that's probably me. Or Matt. And you know what? We're not sorry.

Tube Awakening...

Written by Matt:

The famous London underground is symbolic of the city it connects, transporting the millions of inhabitants each day to their various destination points; anywhere from historical sites to sophisticated new age city dwellings and places. For this well travelled tube commuter, here are a few thoughts of life on the tube.

I must admit when I first rode the tube, I was readily impressed with the sublime efficiency on show. Coming from a bedridden public transportation system in Sydney, where late running trains were the standard fare, I found it a novelty that a train came every few minutes. I couldn’t comprehend all the pre travel warnings I had received about the ‘crummy’ tube network. To me, this was public transport manifested in all its glory…one year later…

First thing to change: rushing around. I swear this city makes you walk faster than you’ve ever walked before. None more evident than running for the tube, up and down escalators, through tight squeezes dodging human traffic left, right and centre in an attempt to board a train. Despite knowing full well that there’s another train approaching a few minutes behind (beware those dreaded delays), there’s something highly competitive in the London psyche, that makes you run, grab, hustle and bustle your way on board.

As you step into the tube, newspapers dominate your view. Not one smile to be seen from the heads burrowed within the newspapers, no eye contact, no noticeable human contact despite the tight squeeze you walk/run/waltz/shimmy/squeeze (apply correct scenario) into upon entrance. Everybody seems to be off in their little world absorbing the latest headlines, whilst others are in a zombielike trance listening to their ipods. The balance of serenity is broken as a group of tourists clamber onto the tube bringing with them the enthusiastic loudness one associates with being in a new town. The Londoners casually glance up to see what has interrupted this serene balance and after giving some withering looks, withdraw the collective furrowed brows back into the gossip pages of the London papers. The ipod zombies hardly shift for the enthusiastic group of tourists.

Nothing highlights my tube amusement better than what I term the ‘Imperial march’. This is highly evident on probably one of the most disliked stretches of ‘in between’ station walking paths. I like to call it the ‘Green Park Mile’. You get all types of people here along this stretch. The robotic that go with the flow, where one misstep can cause severe consequences like stepping on someone else’s shoe upsetting the rhythmic synchronisation. I admit to marching with the flow to the music of the Empire’s Imperial March sounding in my head (for those familiar with Star Wars). Somehow it seems to depict the moment very well. You also encounter the ‘eager beavers’ who go against the stream to try and beat the crowds as they duck and weave whilst crossing over to the incoming wave of human traffic. Then you have the slow lane, these are Londoners who know on which side to walk on. And then you have the tourists, who don’t know the right side to walk on and are a constant nuisance to the London locals. Their leisurely pace equates to an increase in ‘eager beavers’.

Next up: personal space, this is where the phrase ‘mind the gap’ truly comes into play. An unwritten rule of tube riding, do not sit next to someone if there are other seats available. Why is this so, I haven’t a clue but on more than one occasion have I witnessed very such people who have moved when one has sat too close to them. Maybe I am not fully converted to the London psyche yet or maybe I just smell bad.

In true Londoner style, after a year of consistent hopping on and off the tube system, I must admit some of my original views have tarnished at a rapid rate. In between the fun and games mentioned above, has been non stop track work, service suspensions and delays stretching for what seems like an eternity (especially in those hot underground passages –where BO is at it’s full brilliance). It’s surprising how ‘Londoner’ one can become in this crazy city! But the glory days still has its moments for the tourist lurking in me, after all, what else can bring a smile and sense of shared amusement to you and your fellow commuters as you board the tube on your journey…..”Welcome to the Piccadilly line, this train goes to Cockfosters…”

Safe travels and see you somewhere on the underground….well not really, what was that newspaper headline?