Commute

Best part about my commute: all the free newspapers and magazines. For my morning commute I snag me a copy of the Metro. On my return trip I grab a copy of the London Evening Standard. For someone that read the LA Times daily back home, the Metro and the LES are a welcome replacement. Occasionally content overlaps between the two papers but other than they are fun a read and they keep me up to date on happenings here in London and worldwide.

Thursdays are a bonus day because the weekly free magazine,The Shortlist, comes out. The Shortlist is a magazine for all things male - movies, technology, sports etc. Don't worry women you're not left out, the female equivalent, The Stylist, comes out every Wednesday.

Part of their appeal is the British sense of humor that's reflected in their writing. The sarcastic commentary, dry wit and funny photo captions contrast sharply with the formal American journalism I'm used to.

Only in London...

...Will you hear American accents from people who are not Americans.

Last night Lauren and I went to a friends Halloween party - at least I think it was a Halloween Party, decorations were plastered everywhere but costumes were non-existent. Anyway, I heard a group of people chatting away who I would have bet my life on were Americans. I butted my way into my conversation and learned one was from South Korea, one from Belgium, another from Turkey and the last was British but spent time in the US as a child.

Along with McDonald's and Starbucks, it looks like we've exported our accent.

Work photos

Photos from my workplace. 

I'm forced to use a Mac. #firstworldproblem. 

View from my desk. That would be my cup o coffee in the foreground

Office shot.

Another office angle.

Outside view from my desk. My boss uses the computer on the left.

 Hackney street scene.

View from the office looking south. My building looks similar to the 5 story building in the center of the photo.

Cheerio.

Brit Speak

Funny British pronunciations of common words.

Oregano - Ore-ee-gahn-o
Tortoise - Tore-toys
Aluminium - Al-you-min-e-um
Stipend - Stip-end

I'll expand the list as I come across them. I know there are more, I just can't recall them at the moment.

Picture Hour

Aftermath of the August riots, Clapham Junction.

 15 minute walk from our apartment.

 A sunny day in Wandsworth Common.

 Well manicured bowling green, Wandsworth Common.

 Cheese Toasties..

 Nearby upper middle class hood.

 Mainline to London.

 Northcoate Road, Clapham Junction.

Our busy living room. Lauren on the right, Amy on the left. 

Summer

Out of the 20 days I've been here it's only rained once. Sure it's been occasionally cold, sometimes overcast with  an errant gust of wind, but other than that, we've enjoyed unseasonably warm, dry weather. In contrast to this past summer where monsoonal rain and cooler temperatures were the norm. It would appear summer has hit London fashionably late. Timing couldn't be better considering my arrival.

Last night I was told I sound like "I came straight out of the tele". I'm forgetting how different I sound to the rest of the population as my ears becoming accustomed to the various accents.

Today Lauren and I registered with a local NHS doctor. The doctor's office, or surgery as they're refereed to here, is located in an old house. The living room is receptionist office and the kitchen area is now the waiting area. Certainly different from what I'm used to. It will be interesting to see what treatment is like.

This and or that

Interesting article about the hood my office is located in: Linky . Old Street is my Tube stop.

I'm slightly offended at the opening sentence!

Fyi, Lauren and I strolled by the prison entrance on Sunday during a break in her work. Aside from the dozens of cameras pointed in all which directions, the place has the grandness of most buildings built here in the 19th century. I'm hesitant to take photos of it for obvious reasons!

Also, last week I passed a restaurant called "The Chicken Cottage". The jolly, friendly name reminded me of that seafood joint next to the Condo on PCH, Fish Camp.

Edit: It should be noted that the article is not *about* the area I work in, but it mentions it as well as California, so I thought it was relevant blog material.

Prison Time

So, over a round of drinks last night I found out I live about 1000 feet from London's largest prison, HMP Wandsworth.

The prison is home to a slew of infamous criminals including at one point Julian Assange of Wikileaks fame. I've walked by the joint numerous times but thanks to clever landscaping never noticed its existance. Creepy stuff.

I recently read that The City of London - the square mile sized financial district in heart of the city - has had all but 19 streets blocked off. This was done in 1993 in response to IRA terrorism threats. 2 cameras are positioned at the entrances of each street, one to record the car and license plate and the other to record the driver's face. I went from having a big sister to having a big brother.

First of all, help! Some how the language on blogger.com has been switched Vietnamese. Diddy mao.

Chrome has offered to translate the page for me into English. Thanks, bro.

Anyway, today was my second day of work as an intern (paid) for a nascent web start up. I interviewed with them on Tuesday and was offered the position that afternoon.

I made an utter UK noob mistake right before the interview. So I get to the building, hit the buzzer and Tim, the guy I'm meeting with tells me go to the second floor. Alright cool. So I walk up one set of stairs on an ancient wooden staircase, pass a fire place, and enter the double doors ahead of me. I pass through another door and find myself in an office with a couple guys huddling over some tables. They hear the door open and look over their shoulders to meet my eyes. "Hi, uh is Tim here?" I stammer. They respond with a confused looks. "Nope, not here mate" says one. Crap, I think. Then it hits me like a ton of bricks, I'm actually on the first floor. In the UK they count our first floor as the ground level, so our second floor would be considered the first floor here. So I flip a B,  head out the doors and come face to face with Tim, who said, after introducing himself, that he figured I'd make this mistake.

The interview went well, was relatively informal. He asked me the usual interview clichés and I answered with my well rehearsed, carefully prepared responses. He then asked me what areas of the company I'd be interested in participating in. Figuring most of the work would be IT related, and area I have zero experience in, I told him marketing is of interest to me - despite also having zilch experience, but I figured I could learn it relatively quickly. Ah, but I have learned, quickly, be careful what you wish for.

Two days later I'm up to my bushy eye brows in direct marketing techniques and print media nonsense. Despite having a marketing agency on their payroll, they've made me their sole in-house marketing guru. And by guru I mean bumbling idiot.

So far however, they've liked the drivel this guru's cranked out.

The office is actually a large open air, live work loft style deal. It's a corner unit with large windows and we all sit around tables like a university computer lab, but with much more room. I heard the unit is worth more than a million pounds and this company pays in excess of 5,000 lbs a month to rent the joint. Apparently Keira Knightly lives up stairs from us. There are 7 employees, down from 8. At the end of the day one of the interns was sacked. Lacking in enthusiasm was his downfall. The other intern is from Nepal. I don't think I've ever met someone from Nepal in my life and was impressed when I was able to explain roughly where it exists. Booyah, geography skills.

The surrounding hood is very busy, tons of street and foot traffic. We're either located in Hackney or Shoreditch. I keep getting conflicting information on which. The Old Street tube stop is a 7 min walk away. By the way, thanks to some signalling issues or someone on the tracks, something like that, the train sat idling for 15 minutes half-way between two stations. My second day of work and I'm already late. My boss, Tim, was sympathetic however. Don't make it a habit he said. Tell that to the Northern Line :/

Departure

I feel blessed. I've read horror stories of international couples struggling for years to get their partner a visa, spending thousands of dollars on immigration lawyer fees, or getting denied entry to the UK at Heathrow and booted onto the first plane back to the US, regardless of its destination. It was a relatively painless and simple process for me. A couple birth certificates, documents confirming I was not adopted, $233, and several passport photos later a red booklet with a coat of arms on the cover showed up on my doorstep. It was through complete luck that my mother was born in the Kingdom and that citizenship is transferable. Had that not been the case, grad school or the M word would been my tickets in.

Another 4 months later, I breezed through customs at Heathrow. Other than a "Cheers", the immigration officer didn't utter a single word to me. He scanned my British passport, handed it back to me and waved me on. I was concerned I'd be the subject of intense scrutiny, much like American citizens are when we return to the States. I had a whole list of prepared responses to the IO in case he started inquiring about my nationality  and why my accent did not sink up with the passport. But alas, all for nought.

By the way, dig the unprentious blog name? I considered using some witty, pun filled title but opted out when I decided I didn't want to look like a complete d-bag.