The Auburn Nation is not as large as that of a lot of universities. For reasons beyond my comprehension, Auburn attracts no regional following like an Ohio State or Southern Cal, or even the University of Georgia. Everyone in Georgia is a UGA Bulldog fan, whether they or anyone in their family is an alumni or not. Basicly, only alumni are members of the Auburn Nation, also known as The War Eagle Nation. We certainly are not elitist, it's just not the character of the school, but we are a small tight knit bunch. There is a social obligation to shout "War Eagle" when you spot a fellow member.
http://www.wareaglemoment.org/
So Thursday morning I rise at 2:30 a.m. local time tocheck out of the hotel and get to the Birmnghm airport for an early morning flight. The taxi drops me off at the terminal at 3:45. The check in counter isn't opening until 4:00 but there are already a couple of people in line so I join the queu. A lady with a German accent falls in behind me, then soon 2 gentlemen are behind her. As the 2 men talk I notice they are American. Soon we are engaged in a conversation. I learn they are the people who make these signs hanging ove the interstate that tell you how far and how much time till the interchange you are looking for, etc. I tell them how much I appreciate those signs and say half jokingly "Y'all are pretty bright fellows. Where did you go to school?"
You guessed it. Next thing you know we are shouting out War Eagle and exchanging high fives and vigorous handshakes. The others in line were all puzzled at this sudden outburst so early in the morning and moved a few inches further from us.
And I am proud on their behalf to say they were in Birmnghm U.K. because they had closed a deal with the British equivalent of the DOT and will soon be installing these signs over there, doing their part to help the trade deficit.
War Eagle, Tim and John!
Saturday 21 April 2007
Friday 20 April 2007
This just occurred to me
In the post on accents I mentioned Robert Plant, assuming everyone knew that he was the lead singer fro Led Zepplin. That was probably a bad assumption. Sorry
Wednesday 18 April 2007
Back in Amsterdam
It's good to be in transit back home, even if a 10 hour flight awaits me.
I have more tales from Birmnghm so check back for a few days. We have Rootie's family obligation this weekend so it may the first of the week before I get all of them told.
I have more tales from Birmnghm so check back for a few days. We have Rootie's family obligation this weekend so it may the first of the week before I get all of them told.
Tuesday 17 April 2007
Birmnghm comfort food
So, once again I venture out on my own into the town. This time I wind up in "The Figure of Eight Tavern". In all of these establishments you find a table, decide what you want, memorize the number on your table, and go to the bar and order. I study the menu for a minute, then hear 2 of the guys at the table behind say they are ordering 'sausages and mashes'. Um, thinks I. Then I'm in line and the guy ahead of me orders sausages and mashes, so that settles it for me. My turn comes and I step up. The young lady behind bar asks "You ordering food or just a drink?"
"Yes, I would like the sausages and mashes, with a Pedigree and a glass of water"
"My gawd, you're a Yank but you sound funny"
"Yes maam, I'm from Gawgia" I reply, laying it on thick.
"Aw my gawd, Heather come talk to this Yank"
"Say something to Heather"
"Hi, I'm heer visiting from Gawgia, in the Suthern U.S."
Anyway, I work on my beer and directly Heather brings my plate out. In the middle is a mound of mashed potatoes with gravy and 3 sausage links on top, to the side is mushy peas. It can only be described as Birmnghm comfort food. I believe the sausages were boiled.
To cement my legacy at the Figure of Eight Tavern, I left Heather a 2 quid tip (about $4) for what was a 6.50 meal ($13). People don't tip in pubs and taverns over here.
"Yes, I would like the sausages and mashes, with a Pedigree and a glass of water"
"My gawd, you're a Yank but you sound funny"
"Yes maam, I'm from Gawgia" I reply, laying it on thick.
"Aw my gawd, Heather come talk to this Yank"
"Say something to Heather"
"Hi, I'm heer visiting from Gawgia, in the Suthern U.S."
Anyway, I work on my beer and directly Heather brings my plate out. In the middle is a mound of mashed potatoes with gravy and 3 sausage links on top, to the side is mushy peas. It can only be described as Birmnghm comfort food. I believe the sausages were boiled.
To cement my legacy at the Figure of Eight Tavern, I left Heather a 2 quid tip (about $4) for what was a 6.50 meal ($13). People don't tip in pubs and taverns over here.
Accents
British regional accents are as distinct as a New Jerseyite from a Georgian, and even on a more local level similar to Missippian from Georgian. I have been playing a silent mental game, analyzing accents then asking individuals where they are from when the setting is more social than business.
My primary host here is named Iain and is from Glasgow. He has an obvious Scottish accent. I have spent most of my time here with him, and having hosted him in Georgia several times I have finally gotten to where I can understand most of what he says without an interpreter. Yesterday Garret joined us, and I studied his accent and thought he sounded Scottish as well but somehow different. Finally at dinner last night I fessed up to my interest in regional accents and asked Garret where he was from. I thought he sounded Scottish, but somehow different than Iain. Before Garret could answer Iain blurted out
"Ooooh 'ell, e's from Aidnbur(Edinborough). In Aidnbur they talk with the back of their noooses instead of their vooocal cords."
To which Garret replied "Beats the 'ell oota hockin your woords an spittin'em oot"
The funny thing is, each perfectly described the others voice.
Today I spent a lot of time with Tim, the quality control manager. His was a higher pitched sound, almost like speaking is an effort, but otherwise clear and easy to understand. I also noticed some of the technicians had a similar accent, and they talked almost sing-songy. I figured that since many of the technicians had this high-pitched tone it must be immediately local. At lunch today I asked Tim where he was from.
"West Bromwich" he replied.
Iain chimed in "Doodent e sound like Robert Plant, eh?"
To which I said "absolutely, like in Immigrant Song. Same with some of your technicians"
Tim replied "Yes, well Bobby's from West Bromwich. He still frequents the pub where he played many years ago. I've had a beer with him. He's a nice guy, but all those years of hard living have slowed down the old mental reflexes, know what I mean?"
Then Iain said "Yeah- he lives in Ooolverhmptn (spelled Wolverhampton) now"
The company I am visiting is in Oldbury. Click the link to see the geographical relationship of all this.
http://www.mapquest.com/maps/map.adp?formtype=address&country=GB&addtohistory=&address=&city=west+bromwich&zipcode=
Who'd a thunk it, that regional accent could affect not just inflection but include a whiny pitch.
My primary host here is named Iain and is from Glasgow. He has an obvious Scottish accent. I have spent most of my time here with him, and having hosted him in Georgia several times I have finally gotten to where I can understand most of what he says without an interpreter. Yesterday Garret joined us, and I studied his accent and thought he sounded Scottish as well but somehow different. Finally at dinner last night I fessed up to my interest in regional accents and asked Garret where he was from. I thought he sounded Scottish, but somehow different than Iain. Before Garret could answer Iain blurted out
"Ooooh 'ell, e's from Aidnbur(Edinborough). In Aidnbur they talk with the back of their noooses instead of their vooocal cords."
To which Garret replied "Beats the 'ell oota hockin your woords an spittin'em oot"
The funny thing is, each perfectly described the others voice.
Today I spent a lot of time with Tim, the quality control manager. His was a higher pitched sound, almost like speaking is an effort, but otherwise clear and easy to understand. I also noticed some of the technicians had a similar accent, and they talked almost sing-songy. I figured that since many of the technicians had this high-pitched tone it must be immediately local. At lunch today I asked Tim where he was from.
"West Bromwich" he replied.
Iain chimed in "Doodent e sound like Robert Plant, eh?"
To which I said "absolutely, like in Immigrant Song. Same with some of your technicians"
Tim replied "Yes, well Bobby's from West Bromwich. He still frequents the pub where he played many years ago. I've had a beer with him. He's a nice guy, but all those years of hard living have slowed down the old mental reflexes, know what I mean?"
Then Iain said "Yeah- he lives in Ooolverhmptn (spelled Wolverhampton) now"
The company I am visiting is in Oldbury. Click the link to see the geographical relationship of all this.
http://www.mapquest.com/maps/map.adp?formtype=address&country=GB&addtohistory=&address=&city=west+bromwich&zipcode=
Who'd a thunk it, that regional accent could affect not just inflection but include a whiny pitch.
Magpies
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/European_Magpie
Perhaps the most entertaining birds in the world.
The Technical Center for the Multi-National company I am visiting is on the edge of an old industrial park on the outskirts of Birmnghm. The oldest buildings in the area date back to industrial revolution. The chemical plants in the park were sometimes the intended targets of German bombers in WW2, but Birmnghm was on the extreme of the German bombers operational range, and they had to fly many miles over land at night. Coventry is the first city they would come upon on their flight path, after crossing over miles of dark countryside. After suffering high losses to RAF fighters, most dropped their bombs on Coventry then turned tail for home. If you know any WW2 history at all then you know that Coventry was probably the most devasted English town from aerial bombing.
O.K. history sidetrip over. There is this small patch of woods between the chemical plants and the 'mill village', and the technical center where I have been meeting backs up to these woods. Yesterday 3 top executives from the company were tied up with me for 9 hours. This morning I was parked in the conference room on my own while they tended to duties neglected yesterday. I first caught a glimpse of a magpie through the window, then stood up to see what this large black and white bird was. What I first witnessed was 3 magpies relentlessly harrassing a house cat. They would tease the cat. One would get the cats attention by dancing or some other obvious deliberate action, then another would peck the cat's tail or nip him on the butt. This went on for 3-4 minutes before the cat finally had enough and headed back toward the houses on the other side of the woods. I then ambled outside and watched what I am guessing was a courtship ritual. It appears there were 2 males and one female in the group. (Bear in mind these birds are 18-20 inches long with a wingspan nearly 3 feet). The 2 guys took turns showing off, almost looking like they were flexing their muscles by holding one wing out then folding it slowly. The young lady took turns watching one then the other, then apparently decided she desired neither and left. The 2 guys then tussled a bit then went off, in search of mischief I'm sure.
Off and on today I was left alone in the conference room and always went to the window. The magpies were there several times. All I can say is that their interactions with each other were more like those of the weinerdogs than typical birds.
And more entertaining than British television.
Perhaps the most entertaining birds in the world.
The Technical Center for the Multi-National company I am visiting is on the edge of an old industrial park on the outskirts of Birmnghm. The oldest buildings in the area date back to industrial revolution. The chemical plants in the park were sometimes the intended targets of German bombers in WW2, but Birmnghm was on the extreme of the German bombers operational range, and they had to fly many miles over land at night. Coventry is the first city they would come upon on their flight path, after crossing over miles of dark countryside. After suffering high losses to RAF fighters, most dropped their bombs on Coventry then turned tail for home. If you know any WW2 history at all then you know that Coventry was probably the most devasted English town from aerial bombing.
O.K. history sidetrip over. There is this small patch of woods between the chemical plants and the 'mill village', and the technical center where I have been meeting backs up to these woods. Yesterday 3 top executives from the company were tied up with me for 9 hours. This morning I was parked in the conference room on my own while they tended to duties neglected yesterday. I first caught a glimpse of a magpie through the window, then stood up to see what this large black and white bird was. What I first witnessed was 3 magpies relentlessly harrassing a house cat. They would tease the cat. One would get the cats attention by dancing or some other obvious deliberate action, then another would peck the cat's tail or nip him on the butt. This went on for 3-4 minutes before the cat finally had enough and headed back toward the houses on the other side of the woods. I then ambled outside and watched what I am guessing was a courtship ritual. It appears there were 2 males and one female in the group. (Bear in mind these birds are 18-20 inches long with a wingspan nearly 3 feet). The 2 guys took turns showing off, almost looking like they were flexing their muscles by holding one wing out then folding it slowly. The young lady took turns watching one then the other, then apparently decided she desired neither and left. The 2 guys then tussled a bit then went off, in search of mischief I'm sure.
Off and on today I was left alone in the conference room and always went to the window. The magpies were there several times. All I can say is that their interactions with each other were more like those of the weinerdogs than typical birds.
And more entertaining than British television.
Sunday evening
I took a walk late Sunday, down to a park near the canal and municipal buildings. It was beutiful day, near 80 degrees, and the park was full of young couples. I people watched for a bit then walked back up toward O'Neill's Irish pub. Dinner consisted of "Skewers with salmon cubes and root vegetables grilled with a wedge of Irish soda bread." It was delicious. The salmon was advertised as being river caught and not farm raised, and had a richer gamier taste.
I also ordered a Guiness, which prompted this from the barkeep "being a Yank I suppose you want that cold?" Is there another way to drink beer?
I continue to find the people to be wonderful, in the pubs, in the p[ark, everywhere I go.
I also ordered a Guiness, which prompted this from the barkeep "being a Yank I suppose you want that cold?" Is there another way to drink beer?
I continue to find the people to be wonderful, in the pubs, in the p[ark, everywhere I go.
Monday
Monday was essentially work from 8:00 a.m. till 9:00 p.m. I did get to enjoy a traditional English breakfast of fried eggs, toast, and sausage (both regular and blood). Blood sausage was o.k., but I wouldn't go out of my way to get it.
Sunday 15 April 2007
Loyds Bar
To finish the conversation with Richard:
He suggested I try fish and chips and drink a Marsten Pedigree. I asked "Can I buy a beer on Sunday?"
He looked at me hard for the first time (he was driving) and said in a raised voice "Can I buy a beer on Sunday? Is that a real question?"
"In Georgia we can't buy beer or liquor on Sunday"
"Yeah we've heard about that, some religious thing right? Do you really think you can affect people's souls by not letting them get a beer on Sunday?"
I'd never given it that thought. Another example of something becoming so esconced in our being that it is not questioned.
"What should I eat for breakfast?"
"Oh, fried eggs, blood sausage, and tomatoes"
So, after checking in, washing up and getting a quick power nap I head out in search of Loyds. It was 80 degrees, so by the time I got there I was ready for a beer. I went through a rapid learning curve on British Pubs/restauraunts in that you sit yourself, decide what you want, then go back to the bar and order. The bartender was very helpful. I ordered beer-battered fish and chips.
"Course or fine chips?"
I assume that's steak fries vs shoestring fries
"Course"
"Green peas or mushy peas?"
"Um, what are mushy peas?"
"What are mushy peas?" (I've notice people hereabouts tend to repeat your question before answering) "Mushy peas are green peas that are mushed like potatoes, then they add cream, herbs, and...... um other shit they have in the kitchen."
"O.K. I'll try mushy peas. May I ask how you eat fish and chips here, I mean how do you dress it up?"
"How do you eat it? Malt vinegar on the fish, English mustard on the chips"
The Marsten Pedigree was a good beer, kinda like a Killian's Red (my favorite beer) but less so.
When the 'lass' brought my food out with the vinegar and mustard I dug in.
I just have to say, the person who told me you can't get good food in Birmnghm is crazy. I am so getting Rootietoot to make mushy peas when I get home.
He suggested I try fish and chips and drink a Marsten Pedigree. I asked "Can I buy a beer on Sunday?"
He looked at me hard for the first time (he was driving) and said in a raised voice "Can I buy a beer on Sunday? Is that a real question?"
"In Georgia we can't buy beer or liquor on Sunday"
"Yeah we've heard about that, some religious thing right? Do you really think you can affect people's souls by not letting them get a beer on Sunday?"
I'd never given it that thought. Another example of something becoming so esconced in our being that it is not questioned.
"What should I eat for breakfast?"
"Oh, fried eggs, blood sausage, and tomatoes"
So, after checking in, washing up and getting a quick power nap I head out in search of Loyds. It was 80 degrees, so by the time I got there I was ready for a beer. I went through a rapid learning curve on British Pubs/restauraunts in that you sit yourself, decide what you want, then go back to the bar and order. The bartender was very helpful. I ordered beer-battered fish and chips.
"Course or fine chips?"
I assume that's steak fries vs shoestring fries
"Course"
"Green peas or mushy peas?"
"Um, what are mushy peas?"
"What are mushy peas?" (I've notice people hereabouts tend to repeat your question before answering) "Mushy peas are green peas that are mushed like potatoes, then they add cream, herbs, and...... um other shit they have in the kitchen."
"O.K. I'll try mushy peas. May I ask how you eat fish and chips here, I mean how do you dress it up?"
"How do you eat it? Malt vinegar on the fish, English mustard on the chips"
The Marsten Pedigree was a good beer, kinda like a Killian's Red (my favorite beer) but less so.
When the 'lass' brought my food out with the vinegar and mustard I dug in.
I just have to say, the person who told me you can't get good food in Birmnghm is crazy. I am so getting Rootietoot to make mushy peas when I get home.
A private tour of Birmnghm
So, coming out of "Baggage reclaim" and going to the taxi area, there's a man with a sign reading 'Mr. Daddio.'
I put my hand out and say "Hi, I'm Sweet Daddio. I guess you're here to give me a ride"
Small shock at the offer of a handshake, but he gives me a good strong grip "Pleased to meet you Mr. Daddio. I'm Richard"
"Please call me Sweet"
"Alright, this all your bags?"
"Yes- I need to get some local currency". 2 minutes later, after a stop at an international ATM, we are walking through the lot to his "car." He is not a taxi, but more what we would a limo. It's a 4 door sedan. Bags go in the trunk then he opens the back door. I ask "Am I required to ride in back? Or can I ride up front and see where we are going?"
"Please do, if that's what you want. Come ahead."
Let me say, the 'Midlands' British accent is very understandable.
It was a most enjoyable ride. I learn that Birmnghm is England's answer to Detroit, with all British car making being done in the immediate area. We rode by Rover and Jaguar factories.
Directly he asks "I'm being paid flat rate to drive you, and you're my only fare today. Would you like to see Birmnghm?"
Of course I did. I comment on the number of Mosques, complete with prayer towers. This sets him on a rant, the gist of which is that the Turks are hard working, the Pakistanis are so-so, and that for some reason there are a large number who call themselves Palastinians and that they are gangsters who do not work and live off government assistance.
I ask about local food, and mention that the area has a poor reputation regarding food.
"No No No- we are breakfast eaters in this region. All our creative efforts go into breakfast, but you can get a good meal at tea as well. You up to walking this evening? Go 5 blocks south and 1 block west from your hotel and go to Loyds Bar."
Pub review coming up.
I put my hand out and say "Hi, I'm Sweet Daddio. I guess you're here to give me a ride"
Small shock at the offer of a handshake, but he gives me a good strong grip "Pleased to meet you Mr. Daddio. I'm Richard"
"Please call me Sweet"
"Alright, this all your bags?"
"Yes- I need to get some local currency". 2 minutes later, after a stop at an international ATM, we are walking through the lot to his "car." He is not a taxi, but more what we would a limo. It's a 4 door sedan. Bags go in the trunk then he opens the back door. I ask "Am I required to ride in back? Or can I ride up front and see where we are going?"
"Please do, if that's what you want. Come ahead."
Let me say, the 'Midlands' British accent is very understandable.
It was a most enjoyable ride. I learn that Birmnghm is England's answer to Detroit, with all British car making being done in the immediate area. We rode by Rover and Jaguar factories.
Directly he asks "I'm being paid flat rate to drive you, and you're my only fare today. Would you like to see Birmnghm?"
Of course I did. I comment on the number of Mosques, complete with prayer towers. This sets him on a rant, the gist of which is that the Turks are hard working, the Pakistanis are so-so, and that for some reason there are a large number who call themselves Palastinians and that they are gangsters who do not work and live off government assistance.
I ask about local food, and mention that the area has a poor reputation regarding food.
"No No No- we are breakfast eaters in this region. All our creative efforts go into breakfast, but you can get a good meal at tea as well. You up to walking this evening? Go 5 blocks south and 1 block west from your hotel and go to Loyds Bar."
Pub review coming up.
So, how does a guy....
get ot be just a little bit "dangerous?"
all my adult life people, especially women, have judged me to be "safe." Whenever we are out (the beach, NY city, etc) people ask me to take their picture with their cameras because I look "safe" or "trustworthy." Complete strangers have even trusted me with their kids for a few moments. I guess I'm all... somebody (Ward Cleaver, maybe?) and not the least bit Hugh Jackman.
Today on the flight from Amsterdam to Birmingham (pronounced Birmnghm) I was seated next to a lady with a midlands English accent who was my age, maybe a year or 2 younger. We talked prior to take-off, but me being 6'3" and 265 lbs, and her having a Reubinesque figure we were a little tight against the arm rest between us. After we were airborn she folded the armrest up then shifted her weight to her right hip, which pressed her left hip fully against me. She must have felt me tense up because she turned and said "It's alright love- I'm safe and so are you."
I replied "Oh no, I might be dangerous and one of those men your mother warned you about."
"No, you're quite harmless. Your eyes give you away" and with that she turned back around again pressed against me with her left side.
So, how do I lose the Ward Cleaver and get a little Wolverine going?
all my adult life people, especially women, have judged me to be "safe." Whenever we are out (the beach, NY city, etc) people ask me to take their picture with their cameras because I look "safe" or "trustworthy." Complete strangers have even trusted me with their kids for a few moments. I guess I'm all... somebody (Ward Cleaver, maybe?) and not the least bit Hugh Jackman.
Today on the flight from Amsterdam to Birmingham (pronounced Birmnghm) I was seated next to a lady with a midlands English accent who was my age, maybe a year or 2 younger. We talked prior to take-off, but me being 6'3" and 265 lbs, and her having a Reubinesque figure we were a little tight against the arm rest between us. After we were airborn she folded the armrest up then shifted her weight to her right hip, which pressed her left hip fully against me. She must have felt me tense up because she turned and said "It's alright love- I'm safe and so are you."
I replied "Oh no, I might be dangerous and one of those men your mother warned you about."
"No, you're quite harmless. Your eyes give you away" and with that she turned back around again pressed against me with her left side.
So, how do I lose the Ward Cleaver and get a little Wolverine going?
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