I can't believe I haven't written about this before.
So I have a pretty simple name: Anne. Yes, it's with an "e", and I like it spelled that way (just like my namesake, Anne of Green Gables), but pronunciation-wise, it's straight-forward.
Or so I THOUGHT.
When I moved to Ireland two and a half years ago, I learned otherwise.
There's something about the way an American pronounces the "A" in Anne that just throws people for a loop over here. I think it must be extra nasal-sounding, but whatever it is, two times out of three, an introduction on my part ends with the other person saying, "N?" At best. The alternative is, "Sorry, what?"
I've tried to correct for the problem by opening my mouth really wide and putting lots of breath behind my name the first time I tell it to someone. The outcome seems to be looking foolish on top of people not knowing what I'm saying.
This might not sound like a drastic problem -- because it's not -- but it is exhausting. I've taken to saying "My name is Anne," pausing for a moment as the look of perplexity arises, then, "A double n e" (because they say things like "double n" over here). This helps about fifty percent of the time.
I was recently at a symposium where I bought a book by one of the speakers and asked him to sign it. I said, then spelled my name for him. I repeated it when he didn't understand, then spelled it out slowly. He wrote A... m... m... i... e... and said, "Is that right?"
"No," I said, "A, n..."
"M?"
"No, n. N for Nancy."
"Oh, Nancy."
"No, Anne. A, n, n, e."
I ended up with "Best Wishes, A[scribbled mess]." He apologised.
An Irish police officer once did the same thing when I gave him a credit card I had found on the ground. He asked for my name and number for his records. When I said/spelled my first name, he ended up with "Nan," which is both another words for "grandma" over here, and my actually grandmother's name. I had to write it down for him.
It happened again tonight, but I have a new tactic. As soon as the bewilderment shoots across their eyes, I turn to the person standing next to me (if there is a person I know already around) and say, "You say it."
"Anne."
"Oh, Anne! I thought you said 'N.'"
Showing posts with label UK. Show all posts
Showing posts with label UK. Show all posts
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Employment and a dearth of creativity
That's right, I said dearth. I may be gainfully employed and neglectful of my blog, my I remember one or two words from the SATs.
My SAT scores came up again recently. Now that I've settled into New York life -- that's right, she's the mistress that skillfully seduced me away from you, my reader(s) -- I'm going to uproot myself once again and head down what will *hopefully* be a path to a career, a steady income, and stability. In the U.K.
Why couldn't I just stay here in New York, you might ask, keep the rather fun job I already have, and actually wake from my creativity coma? It's New York. I could be out at open mics, writing for blogs, and generally promoting myself at least as much as I do Broadway Shows for a living. I could stop making excuses about this being a temporary situation -- which it is.
And that's where the SAT scores come in. I submitted them -- along with three generations of birth certificates, three months of bank statements, my resume, repeated pleas for mercy and assurances of my employability -- to the British Consulate General of New York. The SAT scores were a bit over the top, but they did ask for "Evidence of any English language ability or qualifications," and although I taught English is France for a year, I never had to take the TOEFL exam, so my Verbal scores in the 91st percentile from 8 years ago will just have to do.
The only thing to do now is wait. It is excruciating. The direction of the next 2 to 5 five years of my life is in the hands of one person or several people, none of whom know anything about me, other than what I look like on paper. According to estimated processing times (5 to 10 business days), I should hear a decision about the visa by Thursday, and according to the plane ticket I have already purchased, I should be flying to London on Saturday. Cutting it a bit fine, am I?
In this last week of mild panic, as my work hours wind down to nothing and I am left with one final paycheck and as many superstitious rituals as I can possibly prescribe to, I turn to you, blog. I miss writing. I liked writing before I moved to New York (for the summer) and became obsessed with work and hours and saving enough to support my next move. This summer has been fun and fruitful. I did save enough to show those visa folks I'll be okay until I get a job, I have generous friends who have put me up at little to no cost, and most importantly, I've had the opportunity to spend time with good friends that I hadn't seen in years. In the chaos of it all, I allowed myself to stop writing, to stop auditioning, and to allow my creativity to be swallowed up in my job and my admiration for the accomplishments of others.
So: this post is an exercise and a challenge to myself. Get back on the horse. Blog when you have time, don't just watch T.V. (I knew there was a reason I hadn't had one of those things in years). Go to open mics. Get back onstage. Get an agent. Work hard. Have something to show for it. Don't spend every waking moment panicking over whether or not The Powers That Be will grant you a visa. Worrying will not affect the outcome. Write new mantras.
The longer I am away from my blog, the harder it is to return. Should I tell them about how I went to Melbourne for my boyfriend's brother's wedding and then to his home country of New Zealand and that his family is awesome and that I'm in love and even though we had to be apart for 7 weeks, together for 6, and then apart for 5 more I think it's all going to be okay? Or should I just start off here, forget what I neglected, and dive in?
Dive in.
My SAT scores came up again recently. Now that I've settled into New York life -- that's right, she's the mistress that skillfully seduced me away from you, my reader(s) -- I'm going to uproot myself once again and head down what will *hopefully* be a path to a career, a steady income, and stability. In the U.K.
Why couldn't I just stay here in New York, you might ask, keep the rather fun job I already have, and actually wake from my creativity coma? It's New York. I could be out at open mics, writing for blogs, and generally promoting myself at least as much as I do Broadway Shows for a living. I could stop making excuses about this being a temporary situation -- which it is.
And that's where the SAT scores come in. I submitted them -- along with three generations of birth certificates, three months of bank statements, my resume, repeated pleas for mercy and assurances of my employability -- to the British Consulate General of New York. The SAT scores were a bit over the top, but they did ask for "Evidence of any English language ability or qualifications," and although I taught English is France for a year, I never had to take the TOEFL exam, so my Verbal scores in the 91st percentile from 8 years ago will just have to do.
The only thing to do now is wait. It is excruciating. The direction of the next 2 to 5 five years of my life is in the hands of one person or several people, none of whom know anything about me, other than what I look like on paper. According to estimated processing times (5 to 10 business days), I should hear a decision about the visa by Thursday, and according to the plane ticket I have already purchased, I should be flying to London on Saturday. Cutting it a bit fine, am I?
In this last week of mild panic, as my work hours wind down to nothing and I am left with one final paycheck and as many superstitious rituals as I can possibly prescribe to, I turn to you, blog. I miss writing. I liked writing before I moved to New York (for the summer) and became obsessed with work and hours and saving enough to support my next move. This summer has been fun and fruitful. I did save enough to show those visa folks I'll be okay until I get a job, I have generous friends who have put me up at little to no cost, and most importantly, I've had the opportunity to spend time with good friends that I hadn't seen in years. In the chaos of it all, I allowed myself to stop writing, to stop auditioning, and to allow my creativity to be swallowed up in my job and my admiration for the accomplishments of others.
So: this post is an exercise and a challenge to myself. Get back on the horse. Blog when you have time, don't just watch T.V. (I knew there was a reason I hadn't had one of those things in years). Go to open mics. Get back onstage. Get an agent. Work hard. Have something to show for it. Don't spend every waking moment panicking over whether or not The Powers That Be will grant you a visa. Worrying will not affect the outcome. Write new mantras.
The longer I am away from my blog, the harder it is to return. Should I tell them about how I went to Melbourne for my boyfriend's brother's wedding and then to his home country of New Zealand and that his family is awesome and that I'm in love and even though we had to be apart for 7 weeks, together for 6, and then apart for 5 more I think it's all going to be okay? Or should I just start off here, forget what I neglected, and dive in?
Dive in.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
The Bad-Tempered Ladybird
And other English (U.K.) absurdities.
Wandering through a bookstore in town today, I came across this little wonder:
For any of my (numerous) non-American readers, this must not seem odd at all. Why, this is what the classic Eric Carle book was always called, right? Wrong! Here, for everyone's amusement and enlightenment, is the original (U.S.) cover.
Now, I know that lots of things undergo name changes when traveling across the Atlantic (e.g. The Boat That Rocked [U.K.] becomes Pirate Radio [U.S. and far more awesome/to the point]*), but is the word "grouchy" so unfamiliar to U.K. and Irish audiences that it had to be changed? Because, let's be honest, calling him bad-tempered just takes all the fun out of it. He's not bad by nature, he's just upset because there are not enough aphids to eat and no one ever taught him how to share! But he learns his lesson. It was probably just the food rage getting to him, anyway.
I'm not even going to go into the fact that the animal in question is a bug and not a bird.
I suppose in the land of wheelie bins (rolling garbage cans), rubbish (garbage-- why do we have so much disagreement on this topic?), and prams (strollers-- for babies, this time, not trash), I should simply come to expect this kind of mucky logic. But I'm not going down without a fight.
Further to my point:
This Indian-language (not sure which one) version of the book also features the original title. Just sayin'. Majority rules.
*This, however, is not as bad or inexplicable as the French changing the titles of Step Up 1 & 2 to Sexy Dance 1 & 2. It's still English. I guess the French count themselves more familiar with the term sexy...
Wandering through a bookstore in town today, I came across this little wonder:
For any of my (numerous) non-American readers, this must not seem odd at all. Why, this is what the classic Eric Carle book was always called, right? Wrong! Here, for everyone's amusement and enlightenment, is the original (U.S.) cover.
Now, I know that lots of things undergo name changes when traveling across the Atlantic (e.g. The Boat That Rocked [U.K.] becomes Pirate Radio [U.S. and far more awesome/to the point]*), but is the word "grouchy" so unfamiliar to U.K. and Irish audiences that it had to be changed? Because, let's be honest, calling him bad-tempered just takes all the fun out of it. He's not bad by nature, he's just upset because there are not enough aphids to eat and no one ever taught him how to share! But he learns his lesson. It was probably just the food rage getting to him, anyway.
I'm not even going to go into the fact that the animal in question is a bug and not a bird.
I suppose in the land of wheelie bins (rolling garbage cans), rubbish (garbage-- why do we have so much disagreement on this topic?), and prams (strollers-- for babies, this time, not trash), I should simply come to expect this kind of mucky logic. But I'm not going down without a fight.
Further to my point:
This Indian-language (not sure which one) version of the book also features the original title. Just sayin'. Majority rules.
*This, however, is not as bad or inexplicable as the French changing the titles of Step Up 1 & 2 to Sexy Dance 1 & 2. It's still English. I guess the French count themselves more familiar with the term sexy...
Saturday, February 28, 2009
The one that almost got away
... or, you know, almost got out of meeting me.
So, the running joke on Saturday night with Billy was that John (his brother) did not exist. I met up with Billy, and he was all like, 'Oh, John says he's really sorry he can't come out, but he hurt his back and he hasn't been off the couch in four days.' Uh huh, likely story. Anyhow, in order to perpetuate this myth, I totally forgot to take any pictures of John or his awesome wife, Mei, when I met them on Monday night. Whoops!
To make up for it, I'm going to say some really nice things about them both, and then plug John's record label. I met John at the record shop where he works in the Islington area of London, a cool neighborhood. It was pouring rain, and I got off the bus (unknowingly) way earlier than I needed to, so I was pretty much drenched when I got there. John was, in fact, walking with a limp (due to a pinched nerve in his back), so I had to admit that a. he existed, and b. he was injured.
We walked to a nearby pub where we met up with his wife. Again, great conversation, again, mostly about music. We had several rounds of beer, some pizzas, and increasingly enthusiastic (slash inebriated) discussions. Mei took off, and I was thinking I should probably go, too, so I bought us one last round. But then John offered one last, last round, and I couldn't say no. I was having too much fun. I had a very pleasant(ly tipsy) bus ride home.
So here's the deal, John is so cool that he has his own record label, Here And Now Recordings, and you should definitely check it out. So, download his newest release for FREE (the best price), listen to other songs released on the label, and if you like it, buy some shit and tell other people about it. This is good stuff, people. Have a listen.
I did get to meet John and Billy's parents on Tuesday, as well (their dad is my mom's cousin, so I think that makes him my first cousin, once removed). We had a lovely lunch in a pub, where I ate my first delicious meat pie! Colin, my mom's cousin, expressed severe regret when I said that I liked Indian food, as apparently that would have been his first choice. I had pretty much eaten Indian food for every other meal in London, though (that is so the opposite of a complaint), so I was fine with a more English meal. Plus why would I not want a pastry full of meat and gravy on top of mashed potatoes? Billy came, too. He had just woken up.
Oh fer cute.
My mom's other cousin, Judy, and her husband, Andy, graciously put me up in Leamington Spa for three nights, which was awesome. A full size mattress on the floor was quite a luxury after several nights of hostels. I also got to see my Great Aunt Pat (Judy's mom) again, as she was staying with them (in the real spare room) while I was there.
Anyhow, my eyes are going to fall out of my head if I spent any more minutes (or hours) in front of the computer screen, so I need to go find something else to stare at for a while. Like a book. Or Jemaine on my Flight of the Conchords poster. Or Bret when I get tired of looking at Jemaine. Thanks for the poster, Dad.
So, the running joke on Saturday night with Billy was that John (his brother) did not exist. I met up with Billy, and he was all like, 'Oh, John says he's really sorry he can't come out, but he hurt his back and he hasn't been off the couch in four days.' Uh huh, likely story. Anyhow, in order to perpetuate this myth, I totally forgot to take any pictures of John or his awesome wife, Mei, when I met them on Monday night. Whoops!
To make up for it, I'm going to say some really nice things about them both, and then plug John's record label. I met John at the record shop where he works in the Islington area of London, a cool neighborhood. It was pouring rain, and I got off the bus (unknowingly) way earlier than I needed to, so I was pretty much drenched when I got there. John was, in fact, walking with a limp (due to a pinched nerve in his back), so I had to admit that a. he existed, and b. he was injured.
We walked to a nearby pub where we met up with his wife. Again, great conversation, again, mostly about music. We had several rounds of beer, some pizzas, and increasingly enthusiastic (slash inebriated) discussions. Mei took off, and I was thinking I should probably go, too, so I bought us one last round. But then John offered one last, last round, and I couldn't say no. I was having too much fun. I had a very pleasant(ly tipsy) bus ride home.
So here's the deal, John is so cool that he has his own record label, Here And Now Recordings, and you should definitely check it out. So, download his newest release for FREE (the best price), listen to other songs released on the label, and if you like it, buy some shit and tell other people about it. This is good stuff, people. Have a listen.
I did get to meet John and Billy's parents on Tuesday, as well (their dad is my mom's cousin, so I think that makes him my first cousin, once removed). We had a lovely lunch in a pub, where I ate my first delicious meat pie! Colin, my mom's cousin, expressed severe regret when I said that I liked Indian food, as apparently that would have been his first choice. I had pretty much eaten Indian food for every other meal in London, though (that is so the opposite of a complaint), so I was fine with a more English meal. Plus why would I not want a pastry full of meat and gravy on top of mashed potatoes? Billy came, too. He had just woken up.
Oh fer cute.My mom's other cousin, Judy, and her husband, Andy, graciously put me up in Leamington Spa for three nights, which was awesome. A full size mattress on the floor was quite a luxury after several nights of hostels. I also got to see my Great Aunt Pat (Judy's mom) again, as she was staying with them (in the real spare room) while I was there.
Anyhow, my eyes are going to fall out of my head if I spent any more minutes (or hours) in front of the computer screen, so I need to go find something else to stare at for a while. Like a book. Or Jemaine on my Flight of the Conchords poster. Or Bret when I get tired of looking at Jemaine. Thanks for the poster, Dad.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
A little more better*
...rested.
Phew. It was really nice to get some sleep last night. I'm staying at this really nice, quiet hostel in Edinburgh, and despite the ridiculous difficulty I had in finding it last night, it's actually quite close to the center of town. I'm going on a walking tour in about an hour, and (don't worry, Neely) I plan on checking out the Parliament building later today.
As I breifly mentioned in my last post, I had a long day of travel yesterday. I took the train up from Dublin to Belfast (beautiful), then the ferry from Belfast to Stranaer, then the train from Stranraer to Glasgow, and finally a train from Glasgow to Edinburgh. I (believe it or not) did this on purpose. The last time I was traveling, I was doing a lot more flying, and it got to be a pain in the ass. It 'saves time' to fly, but I hate the lines and the disorganized airports that ryanair flies out of. So I made and epic journey. Here is a map of where I've traveled so far:
View Larger Map
A. Paris
B. London (arrived by Eurostar train, via the Chunnel, which was just dark and unexciting)
C. Leamington Spa (stayed with relatives, arrived by train)
E. Dublin (arrived on Irish Ferries, cool look out deck for arrival in Ireland)
G. Stranaer, Scotland (arrived by Stena Line ferries, nicer interior, but less outside viewing space)
H. Glasgow (arrived by ScotRail, changed trains at Glasgow Central)
I. Edinburgh (finally arrived by train!)
Tomorrow, I'm planning a day trip up to Loch Ness, and Saturday I'll need to get back to Glasgow to catch an early flight out.
Europe is awesome! Hopefully I'll have time soon to write about some culturally ridiculous things I've observed in my travels. Thanks for reading, folks.
*See BSB debut album, circa 1998
Phew. It was really nice to get some sleep last night. I'm staying at this really nice, quiet hostel in Edinburgh, and despite the ridiculous difficulty I had in finding it last night, it's actually quite close to the center of town. I'm going on a walking tour in about an hour, and (don't worry, Neely) I plan on checking out the Parliament building later today.
As I breifly mentioned in my last post, I had a long day of travel yesterday. I took the train up from Dublin to Belfast (beautiful), then the ferry from Belfast to Stranaer, then the train from Stranraer to Glasgow, and finally a train from Glasgow to Edinburgh. I (believe it or not) did this on purpose. The last time I was traveling, I was doing a lot more flying, and it got to be a pain in the ass. It 'saves time' to fly, but I hate the lines and the disorganized airports that ryanair flies out of. So I made and epic journey. Here is a map of where I've traveled so far:
View Larger Map
A. Paris
B. London (arrived by Eurostar train, via the Chunnel, which was just dark and unexciting)
C. Leamington Spa (stayed with relatives, arrived by train)
- Day trip to Warwick Castle
- Day trip to Stratford-Upon-Avon
E. Dublin (arrived on Irish Ferries, cool look out deck for arrival in Ireland)
- Weekend trip to Kilkenny, Ireland
G. Stranaer, Scotland (arrived by Stena Line ferries, nicer interior, but less outside viewing space)
H. Glasgow (arrived by ScotRail, changed trains at Glasgow Central)
I. Edinburgh (finally arrived by train!)
Tomorrow, I'm planning a day trip up to Loch Ness, and Saturday I'll need to get back to Glasgow to catch an early flight out.
Europe is awesome! Hopefully I'll have time soon to write about some culturally ridiculous things I've observed in my travels. Thanks for reading, folks.
*See BSB debut album, circa 1998
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