/tə'maːtəʊ/

There's a family-run diner - not far from our place - that we like to go to for a weekend brunch, every now and then. A treat. They do great pancakes, milkshakes, omelettes, spicy breakfast burritos as large as your face... I could go on.

The fact that this diner isn't part of a franchise makes us love it even more. I don't know if it's typical of American restaurants, but it seems that in our neck of the woods, the majority of restaurants and diners belong to nation-wide franchises that specialise in bland food: Appplebees, IHOP, Marie Callender's, Olive Garden... again, I could go on. Those places hold no interest for us, though.

So, yesterday, we found ourselves at our diner. Endless coffee? Check. Toddler in high chair, throwing everything within reach onto the floor? Um, check.

When it was time to order, I began with, "I'll have a Californian omelette, but without the tomato-"

"It's tom-AY-to, not tom-AH-to, Mum!" The Faery shook her head, and gave the waitress a knowing look.

Wow. Looks like I have a little five-year-old smart arse on my hands.

Yeah, that's right. A smart arse, not ass. I am too old to change the way I speak, and I don't want to.

At least she still calls me Mum, not Mom...

Subtitles unavailable

Without getting into the pros and cons of kids watching TV, lets just say that I belong in the 'whatever gets you through the day' camp.

Some days are easy. I'm in a groove, I'm relaxed, and I'm on fire - in terms of entertaining the Faery and Miss Pie. Stimulating their little brains, and all that. Other days... well, the TV is my saviour.

When the Faery was a toddler in Australia, we figured out which shows were okay for her to watch.

By 'okay', I mean the visuals, voices, or songs didn't leave me wanting to bash my head, repeatedly, against a wall, and start downing glasses of wine at 10am. Shows such as Hi-5 had that effect, so that one was definitely avoided. If you're not from Australia, I dare you to click on the link. The off-key singing and costumes will make you want to vomit... not really selling it, am I? I also try to minimise exposure to Dora The Explorer, for my own sanity.

Shows that we liked (or weren't horrendously offended by) over the years were:

- Play School 
- The Wiggles
- Bindi: The Jungle Girl
- Sesame Street
- Go Gabba Gabba
- Curious George
- Pingu
- Thomas & Friends
- Maisy
- Pocoyo
- In The Night Garden (seriously, what substances had been imbibed by the creators?)
- Peppa Pig
- Shaun The Sheep
- Fifi & The Flowertots
- Charlie and Lola

(Photo source)

Okay, so some of these still left me wanting to bash my head, but not as violently.

A large portion of the shows are British, because that's just how it seems to be in Australia - more British children's shows than Australian or American. As annoying as some of these shows were (hello, Fifi) I didn't mind having them on in the background because their accents were so lovely - especially the ones with regional voices. I always have time for a Scouse or Yorkshire accent.

Moving to the US, I realised we wouldn't have access to quite a few of the Faery's favourites any more. I was fine with that because as long as Sesame Street and Curious George were around, I knew I'd have a babysitter for at least an hour or so a day when needed.

I learned very quickly that Barney & Friends brought out the worst in me. He was banished.

For a while, our cable package included the Nick Jr channel, and a whole lot of old favourites from back home were available to us again. Joy! However, that joy turned to disappointment when I noticed that many of the British shows had been dubbed with American accents.

It's nothing personal about American accents, but I can't help wonder why this was done. Some head honcho of some company, somewhere, decided that American children may not understand British accents, perhaps? If so, give me a break - that's underestimating the intelligence of kids. Or maybe it was done for their parents' benefit? Who knows.

Shows such as Peppa Pig - where the voices are mostly from the south of England - have been left alone. However, Thomas & Friends, Fifi & The Flowertots, Maisy, and Bob The Builder (with voices from the north of England) have all received the dubbing treatment. It's a little sad, really. They had the best accents.

We no longer have Nick Jr. We only have one of the PBS channels that airs Sesame Street, Curious George, and a handful of other small children's shows. Before we stopped getting Nick Jr, I recorded a stockpile of some of their better shows on the DVR... but thank god for Netflix and it being able to stream Yo Gabba Gabba to us. That show has saved many a day.

And as I type? Miss Pie is ensconced in a Maisy DVD that I'd forgotten about, and have only just dug out.

Thank you Netflix, and thank you DVDs.

Zombies and crushes

First of all, let me start by stating that I don't 'do' zombie films (with the exception of the very funny Shaun of the Dead - but being a comedy, it's entirely different). I don't do any horror films. It's just not my thing, and I don't enjoy films or TV shows when I'm watching them with from between the fingers of my hands over my eyes, and jumping out of my skin. Plus, gore is gross. I simply don't have the stomach for it.

I've recently had to review my stance, though, and this is my reason why. Andrew Lincoln. He falls under the category of British Actors I'd Run Away With. Ahem. Clive Owen is also on the list.

(Photo source)

I've had a thing for Andrew Lincoln for, oh, well over a decade? He may have lovely blue eyes and a puppy-dog face, but mostly, it's his voice. There's a hypnotic drowsiness to it like no other actor's, and I could just close my eyes and listen to him forever. Yeah, I know. That sounds scarily stalkerish.

I was first drawn to him during my student days, when my housemates and I became hooked on a British  TV drama called This Life. A few years later, when J and I moved to London, the very first film we saw at the cinema was Human Traffic. He only had a small role in it, but it was a film that I identified with at the time. We were young whippersnappers and lost the odd weekend here and there to clubbing. 

I bought Human Traffic's soundtrack, which is mixed with soundbites from the film, including a line by Andrew Lincoln's character. Here's the sad thing: when bored while travelling on the tube, inside the private cocoon of my Discman, I used to replay that line - just to hear his voice. One more time. 

(You'll be relieved to know I wouldn't able to pinpoint which track number it's on anymore. I've since moved on, just a little...)

Anyhow, over the years that we lived in the UK, I saw him in various films and TV shows. To people living outside Britain,  you may know him from the sickeningly saccharine Love Actually. His character was the best man, in love with his mate's bride (played by Keira Knightley). It doesn't matter how many times it's been on TV now. If I flip over the channels and catch one of the scenes with him? I'm swooning all over again. It makes up for the insufferable Hugh Grant.

It's been a while since I've seen anything with Andrew Lincoln, as I suppose less of his work has been aired in Australia. So I put him out of my mind, quite a few years ago.

Until recently, when J mentioned that he wanted to see an American series called The Walking Dead. I'd heard about it, and knew it was about zombies. Ugh. I also knew Andrew Lincoln was in it. My 'boyfriend', as J teases me.

So I acquiesced, and Netflix sent us the first disc from the series yesterday.

The character that Andrew Lincoln plays is an American policeman, in the South (Georgia). I knew that his voice would sound different from what I'm used to, but I wasn't prepared for how much it distracted me, at first. I'm so used to his British voice that I was surprised at how different he sounds in The Walking Dead. Not just his accent, but his pitch is slightly higher. Perhaps that makes it easier to do such a different accent? I know, I know, it's called acting.

It bothered me at first, but then I remembered - I like Southern accents. I love Southern accents. 

Andrew Lincoln's voice, Southern-style? I could get used to that. I'll have to listen again, I think. One more time.

But the gore? Oh my, the gore. It is full on, and I have a whole series of that to get through. I may just have to close my eyes and listen...

Legal Alien

That's a box I had to tick to describe myself at the Social Security Office today. Legal alien with working status. It has a nice ring to it, yes?

So why was I there? Now that I have a work permit, it's time to apply for a US social security number (SSN). I've been here over a year, without a social security number. No drama, really, except for two things:

1. Every organisation and their dog inisists that they need your SSN for every single form you fill out, when in fact (I'm told) it's not a legal requirement - but so many Americans seem bogged down by their love of - and need for - bureaucracy that they can't accept it's possible to exist without a SSN.

2. The Social Security Office will not just hand out SSNs to anyone. You need to either be a citizen, or have legal working status, which I recently received.

So on this fine hot morning, I found myself at the Social Security Office in Burbank.

I walked in with Miss Pie, and was directed by Mr Security Guard to take a number and fill out a form. He complimented me on my wedding ring, which I thought was a little odd.

My number was A36, and the number on the screen was A34. Sweet! Won't be a long wait.

I sat down and completed the form. At this point Mr Security Guard approached me, and began talking about how he'd spent time in the Australian Outback, training with the Australian Army, "Those guys are crazy - they have a real death wish!"

Being the polite person that I am, I listened as he continued, "And your beer. Fosters? Such big cans - I drank it. It's strong!" He spoke about what a great time he had, and how he thought Australians were the friendliest people - so, of course I was going to be polite and and conversationalist for a minute or two.

Then as Mr Security walked back to his desk, I heard "A37", and I looked up at the TV screen to see A36 change to A37. Crap.

I began to call out to the available window, just as Mr and Mrs A37 took a seat at that window.

From across the room, Mr Security's voice rang out: "Ma'am, these numbers are not called out in unison. Please take a seat."

I explained that I was pretty sure I'd just seen my number momentarily on the screen, and he wanted to see my ticket to check the number. Then he said, "Well, you'll need to wait until another window is free, then ask them if they called your number already. This is why you need to listen carefully."

Um... WTF, dude? I wasn't listening 'carefully' because you were in my face talking about good times in Australia, and I was being a polite listener. 

I sat down in disbelief, and waited for a window to become free. When it did, Mr Security walked over and I heard him enquire about my number. Then I heard the staff member reply that they'd called out A36, three times.

Mr Security strolled over and informed me that, yes, my number had been called out - and I interjected, "Which I didn't hear because you were talking to me."

He replied "Yes, ma'am, my bad I'm afraid, but you'll need to take another number and wait again. I'm sorry, ma'am."

It took all of my resolve NOT to open a can of whop-arse right there and then. If anyone has ever had to wait at such places, with bored toddlers wanting to run amuck, they'll understand how badly I wanted to scream.

However, Mr Security was also Mr Ex-Military (I'm guessing - why else would he be hanging out with the Australian Army?). Opening a can of whop-arse wasn't really an option, even if he did seem to have a soft spot for women with Aussie accents.

So I sighed - heavily - and took another number.

Accented

She follows her children around the playground, and offers water to them. She inhales the spring air, and calls out sharply as her youngest climbs too high.

The other women listen to her.

They listen to her one-sided conversations. They note the way her words sound different.

The way her words rise, fall and shift. The slightly different syllable stress. Different vowels.

The different phrases. Intonation.

She is from somewhere else, far away.

The other women wonder where she is from, but they do not ask her.

They also have children to follow, and are busy. Engaging, suggesting, empathising with one another. Cooing. Laughing.

Perhaps they feel too shy to ask her, or embarrassed that they don't recognise her accent.

They stop wondering, and resume their chatting.

*

I used to be amongst those other women.

Not now.

I am the one they observe.