English Lesson #7: Dining Alone

I hate dining alone. Movies I can handle, they’re not really a social experience. If you’ve visited my home in San Antonio you know I much prefer to watch a movie in my own media room with the comfort of my wet bar rather than brave a crowded theater full of sneezing people, thirty minutes of commercials and overpriced food (and pay $15 for the privilege). Even in college I had surround sound and in the dorms my roommate Chris and I pioneered the concept of the BYOC event—that’s Bring Your Own Chair for those of you that didn’t go to college (or attended before we made our mark). So with the cinema I have no problem, but I do hate dining alone.

Unless you are a food critic or married to someone who doesn’t cook, dining out is supposed to be a treat, a social event. When you dine alone you are reduced to either people watching or talking to yourself, and both of those can make you seem a little creepy in a restaurant. Today I found myself dining alone in a pub in Salisbury after a drive-by of Stonehenge. All that free time sitting at the table by myself got me thinking. How lucky for you all.

The only travel disaster this Road Scholar faced this weekend was the weather. This place is worse than Seattle, I don’t even remember the last time I saw the sun. Even the rainbow I snapped a photo of a couple weeks ago seemed to be an immaculate conception with no sun in sight. It wouldn’t be quite so bad if it actually rained occasionally instead of this pansy-ass misty wet-all-the-time crap—you know, some honest to God manly-man rain. Instead there’s just the annoying mist that floats around you making an umbrella as useless as a chocolate tea pot.

Although Jen is gone, there are a few people at work that are usually good for some sightseeing. Unfortunately they all flew home this weekend to the U.S. Since they are here “unaccompanied” they get home trips every few weeks. Since I’m accompanied I don’t, even though I’m no longer—accompanied that is. What that all boils down to is crappy weather and no traveling companions, which means it was very hard to get motivated to go do anything this weekend but watch reruns of Friends.

Next weekend my sisters-in-law will be in town and we have plans to visit London and Paris. It should be fun, I'm looking forward to the company--and the sightseeing. In the meantime, I'm dining alone and pondering the great mysteries of Britain.

British Television

Could they BE any less entertaining? I mean seriously, I woke up yesterday, popped the television on and the riveting programming that was playing: Big Brother Live. These people are obsessed with Big Brother, you can usually find some form of it airing 24 hours a day. There are many forms, by the way. There’s Big Brother, Big Brother’s Little Brother, Big Brother Diary Room, and who can forget, Big Brother Live. I can, or at least I’d like to. It sounds like a fun concept, and it works for Saturday Night Live. The only problem is live TV Big Brother style takes place about 9AM on Sunday morning and the entire house is asleep. That’s right, this channel was airing a dark room with a single camera angle showing the Big Brother house mates in bed…fully clothed…actually sleeping. That’s exciting television. I never watched the show in the U.S. (is it even still on?) but the British version is boring—even when they’re not all asleep. And maybe this was the intent of the casting director, but all the house mates seem like they’re perpetually high. Either that or they picked the dumbest group of people they could find and put them on TV.

While we’re on the topic of television, here’s a few other things I’ve noted:

- When Big Brother isn’t on, Friends is. The British are crazy about Friends.

- And The Simpsons. I’m not sure what the reception to the movie was in the States, but here it was a big deal. Homer Simpson does endorsements for everything over here. And the Homer Simpson ringtones…forget about it.

- When the Brits are not watching Friends, The Simpson’s, or Big Brother, they’re showing commercials for reducing carbon footprints or wintricity farms.

- Remember Sally Struthers and those “save the poor kids in Zimbabwe” commercials? They showed touching pictures of kids with swollen bellies and flies buzzing about, then asked for a modest donation with pleas like “only fifty cents a day can feed a child in Mozambique”.

I haven’t seen any of those here.

I am however considering a donation to save a donkeys life. It’s a toss-up though between the donkey and the camel. The camel’s first person account of how his master makes him haul goods until he collapses was a tear jerker. Of course, if I save the donkey (or the camel), I won’t be able to afford my carbon offsets.

- How about the game shows? Before you come on down, the UK versions of Deal or No Deal and Who Wants To Be a Millionaire have nothing on their U.S. counterparts. Like Big Brother, they’re BOR-ING.

The Beckhams

I’m not sure what’s more ridiculous, hiring David Beckham to play soccer in Los Angeles or David Beckham thinking that soccer will become an instant success now that he plays in Los Angeles. Over here the Beckham’s think they are a pretty big deal. I haven’t figured out yet whether they’re legends in their own time or in their own minds. I’m sure everyone caught Victoria Beckham’s special on “Coming to America”. I watched it (at the time I only got four channels and it was on three of them). It was actually kind of funny for an absurd parody. It was supposed to be absurd, right? I mean, she doesn’t actually want us to believe her biggest stress in a day is hiring a personal assistant to help her sip drinks by the pool, does she? You know that Victoria Beckham is formerly known as Posh Spice...of the Spice Girls.

Nineties band…had that one song…

Nevermind. Did you hear LA has a soccer team?