The decline and fall of mildly diverting things a clueless immigrant learnt this week

by awindram

  1. [tweetmeme source=”awindram” only_single=false]Softball:
    It would appear that when it comes to the average, schleppy, American male, baseball is solely for watching. If you actually want to play baseball, good luck; the likelihood instead is that you’ll probably have to settle for playing baseball’s remedial younger brother – softball. In this game, pinguid American men – the same guys who very often deride soccer as a girl’s game – get to pitch at each other underarm because they’re not tough enough for an actual game of baseball with proper pitching. Let’s make it even easier for them and have them play Tee Ball.
  2. Bagging my own:
    Over here, I’m adored by check-out operators. They’re under the misapprehension that I’m like some chivalric knight straight out of Camelot.
    “Sir, you really don’t have to bag those groceries. I can do that for you.”
    “Quite alright.”
    “Thank you, sir. That’s very kind.”
    Haven’t got the heart to tell them that it’s actually because I’m still preconditioned to British supermarkets where I’d probably get spit at and stabbed if I waited for the girl on the till to put away my groceries for me.
    “Who do you think you are, expecting me to put away your crap? I aint your slave. That is well rude, innit.
  3. And nobody in the room knows of the genius of Oliver Postgate:
    I was in a room full of Americans (since moving to the US this has been happening to me fairly regularly) when it struck me that nobody else in that room would have heard of Bagpuss.
    Have you heard of Bagpuss?” I asked.
    “Have you heard of Bagpuss?”
    “Is this some weird British sexual term?”
    “He’s an old, saggy cloth cat, baggy, and a bit loose at the seams.”
    “Anthony, what are you talking about? Why do you always have to be so weird?”
    Poor things, going through their whole lives without knowing the works of Oliver Postgate. Ignorant of Bagpuss, Professor Yaffle, Noggin the Nog or the Clangers. And it wasn’t just this room of people. Everyone I passed on the street would have had the same blank stare if asked who Bagpuss was or who the Clangers were. And of all the crazy things happening in the world, it was this pathetically self-indulgent thought that made me sad.

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