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rinueThings England does better than America:
- Electrical plugs. Say what you will about Britain's shoddy plumbing; the electricals are impeccable. And, oh, electric kettles, how I love the speed with which you heat water.
- Sketch comedy. Actually, television in general. This does me little good, as I have neither a television nor time to watch one, but there it is.
- Crosswalks. Stopping traffic never gets old. I should probably be more cautious; Marla Singer-like, I fling myself on to roadways without ever looking (though I keep my ears open).
- Cheese. Oh sweet stilton.
- Clothes. The average person here dresses both more originally and more flatteringly.
- Calling people "darlin'." The American south is suppose to have this one sewn up, but in practice it's falling down on the job. I couldn't tell you the last time I got an American "sugar" or even a "sweetie pie." Here, one is "Hello, darlin'!"ed by almost every shopkeeper.
- Text messages which are priced sensibly. However, on balance, Britain loses out to American telephony; the line charges here are crazy.
- I'm pretty sure there's something else I'm leaving out - something important. It's not beer, tea, curry, or chips - I've had better, on average, in the States. It's not public transit - I'd like to praise the Underground, but it's both slower and more expensive than driving back home. Socialized medicine may or may not be a mess (I haven't tried it); parliamentary government may or may not be less corrupt - it's hard to compare countries of such different sizes. I think British coins and bank notes are more attractive; I think British banks are lumbering.
- Pedestrians? Sometimes I like the number of pedestrians. Usually I'd rather have the street to myself.
What America does better than England:
Commercials, newspapers, comic strips, openness, civil liberties (amazingly), transparency, lighting conditions, cost of living, freedom.
The irony of everything is threefold. The first irony is that most Dallasites firmly believed I'd feel at home in London, despite my telling them I wouldn't. I'm a dyed-in-the-wool patriot, a connoisseur of American history, of American geography, of American legal systems. I'm built on John Locke from the atom; my number one value is freedom from outside interference. That much should have been clear from my lifestyle, my jobless, roving lack of allegiance. Constraints are only fun when they're self-imposed - freely, as a game.
I came to London Film School despite - not because of - the London in the title (which was until recently London International Film School). I gambled the school would be good enough to make up for England. I don't know that it is. (No offense to people who like England - I can see it's got a lot to offer to someone whose essential nature is less Romie. But, well. That's the knife.)
The second irony is that film school was supposed to spark my creativity. In a way, it has. But I'd be writing more if I wasn't here, and showing it to more people. I'm more excited by the projects I left behind.
The third irony - the most beautiful - is that my decision to apply to London Film School was based entirely upon my marriage to Patrick. Financially, it was a smart idea; there were companies here that wanted to hire him once he had the work permit my student visa would give him. I might not have needed any loans, which do hang over my head. If I did need loans, well, governments only give them to institutions, not individuals. Banks only take risks backed by governments. I didn't know at the time that the primary organization I'd borrow from would not be America, or Bank of America, but my dad.
But that's only half the story; England's real purpose was to save the marriage. It was a chance for Patrick to put me first - to follow my lead for once, like he'd always said he would. It was an excuse to move away from his family. It was a hope I'd be happier with Patrick if I was far away from Ciro. Third irony: my main reason for going to London Film School was to get away from Ciro.
(I'm back at the flat now, and glad again for the electric kettle. Hot sweet liquids, even though I never take sugar in my tea. Full shock reaction - eyes wide open, skin conductivity off the chart. Adrenaline shakes. Nausea. I had trouble dialing the phone; my muscles have gone rigid like armor.)
If I'd known I'd divorce Patrick; known I'd be with Ciro; known my dad would lend me money - I would never have come. I might not have stayed in Dallas - might have gone to Boston - but I would have put this money toward a film, not a degree. I still fully respect the school; still fully respect the teachers. I'm starting to respect the other students.
I'd lose face by leaving. But I'm not an economist for nothing, and I studied enough social psych to know about low-balling. If I leave right now, I'm only out the money Dad loaned me - I won't owe the school or the government. Of the five reasons I had for coming to the school, only one still operates. Perhaps, after a night's sleep, I will find that's enough.
- Electrical plugs. Say what you will about Britain's shoddy plumbing; the electricals are impeccable. And, oh, electric kettles, how I love the speed with which you heat water.
- Sketch comedy. Actually, television in general. This does me little good, as I have neither a television nor time to watch one, but there it is.
- Crosswalks. Stopping traffic never gets old. I should probably be more cautious; Marla Singer-like, I fling myself on to roadways without ever looking (though I keep my ears open).
- Cheese. Oh sweet stilton.
- Clothes. The average person here dresses both more originally and more flatteringly.
- Calling people "darlin'." The American south is suppose to have this one sewn up, but in practice it's falling down on the job. I couldn't tell you the last time I got an American "sugar" or even a "sweetie pie." Here, one is "Hello, darlin'!"ed by almost every shopkeeper.
- Text messages which are priced sensibly. However, on balance, Britain loses out to American telephony; the line charges here are crazy.
- I'm pretty sure there's something else I'm leaving out - something important. It's not beer, tea, curry, or chips - I've had better, on average, in the States. It's not public transit - I'd like to praise the Underground, but it's both slower and more expensive than driving back home. Socialized medicine may or may not be a mess (I haven't tried it); parliamentary government may or may not be less corrupt - it's hard to compare countries of such different sizes. I think British coins and bank notes are more attractive; I think British banks are lumbering.
- Pedestrians? Sometimes I like the number of pedestrians. Usually I'd rather have the street to myself.
What America does better than England:
Commercials, newspapers, comic strips, openness, civil liberties (amazingly), transparency, lighting conditions, cost of living, freedom.
The irony of everything is threefold. The first irony is that most Dallasites firmly believed I'd feel at home in London, despite my telling them I wouldn't. I'm a dyed-in-the-wool patriot, a connoisseur of American history, of American geography, of American legal systems. I'm built on John Locke from the atom; my number one value is freedom from outside interference. That much should have been clear from my lifestyle, my jobless, roving lack of allegiance. Constraints are only fun when they're self-imposed - freely, as a game.
I came to London Film School despite - not because of - the London in the title (which was until recently London International Film School). I gambled the school would be good enough to make up for England. I don't know that it is. (No offense to people who like England - I can see it's got a lot to offer to someone whose essential nature is less Romie. But, well. That's the knife.)
The second irony is that film school was supposed to spark my creativity. In a way, it has. But I'd be writing more if I wasn't here, and showing it to more people. I'm more excited by the projects I left behind.
The third irony - the most beautiful - is that my decision to apply to London Film School was based entirely upon my marriage to Patrick. Financially, it was a smart idea; there were companies here that wanted to hire him once he had the work permit my student visa would give him. I might not have needed any loans, which do hang over my head. If I did need loans, well, governments only give them to institutions, not individuals. Banks only take risks backed by governments. I didn't know at the time that the primary organization I'd borrow from would not be America, or Bank of America, but my dad.
But that's only half the story; England's real purpose was to save the marriage. It was a chance for Patrick to put me first - to follow my lead for once, like he'd always said he would. It was an excuse to move away from his family. It was a hope I'd be happier with Patrick if I was far away from Ciro. Third irony: my main reason for going to London Film School was to get away from Ciro.
(I'm back at the flat now, and glad again for the electric kettle. Hot sweet liquids, even though I never take sugar in my tea. Full shock reaction - eyes wide open, skin conductivity off the chart. Adrenaline shakes. Nausea. I had trouble dialing the phone; my muscles have gone rigid like armor.)
If I'd known I'd divorce Patrick; known I'd be with Ciro; known my dad would lend me money - I would never have come. I might not have stayed in Dallas - might have gone to Boston - but I would have put this money toward a film, not a degree. I still fully respect the school; still fully respect the teachers. I'm starting to respect the other students.
I'd lose face by leaving. But I'm not an economist for nothing, and I studied enough social psych to know about low-balling. If I leave right now, I'm only out the money Dad loaned me - I won't owe the school or the government. Of the five reasons I had for coming to the school, only one still operates. Perhaps, after a night's sleep, I will find that's enough.
