wendy house

An Italian, and American and a Wendy in a room together.

The American compliments the Italian.

The Wendy turns to the Italian, raises the flat of her hand into the air and smiles at him.

The Italian looks baffled, takes Wendy’s hand as if to shake it.

Wendy: High Five, slap my hand

American: Yo, High five man!

I really like the way USA people express compliments with this physical gesture. It will happen to people that I work with….

I had never heard of a Piñata when I moved to the USA. My manager was going out to buy one for a friend, I asked him what it was. He was gobsmacked that I didn’t know. How could I have lived a truly fulfilled life without knowing what a Piñata is? He explained that it was a colourful paper container, often shaped like a donkey, that is hung from a tree branch and people beat it with baseball bats until the sweeties it contains fall out.

wendy: so it essentially rewards people for being violent to something that looks like an animal?

manager:  yeeeeaarrh (he’s Texan)

wendy: Americans are strange people

On November 15th they’ll have local Elections in the UK. The voting stations, normally schools, close for their normal purpose and are staffed with people to help the voters make their vote.

After work I’ll walk along to the local primary school “Alfred Sutton” walk up to a table that’s labelled with “H” for House, give them my voter card and they’ll use a pencil to cross my name of a paper list and point me to a little booth where I’ll go and put an ‘X’ next to the name of the person I want to vote for.

It’s all very quaint and has been the same since I started voting in the early 80′s.

Friends in Washington State (West coast USA) get to vote by dropping their papers in a large Ballot Box or the mail, it’s all postal vote for them. In this case, the family made a trip to the ballot box location and the children ceremoniously dropped their vote into the Ballot box.

They can also pick-up a report card that gives them a voting performance score based on their personal voting history and that of thier neighbourhood. Excellent!

BBC Breakfast news anchor man said:

“Like Americans, they carry their business cards with them everywhere“

Is ‘carrying business cards’ a euphemism for something like

• helpful
• friendly
• organised
• pretentious
• over-prepared

The sound of the phone ringing gradually woke me.   Nearly 6am (Pacific coast time), only UK friends would call me at this unearthly  time in the morning.   Sleepily I reached for the phone and pulled it to my ear only to hear the dial-tone.   Who-ever called had hung-up.   I never found out who called.   Awake I decided to get up and make myself a cup of tea,   to enjoy the sunny morning before setting out for work.

In my doziness I stubbed my toe on the half-packed suitcase,  preparing for my planned sailing holiday in Greece.   Scheduled to fly out on September 16th I was looking forward to a club holiday with English friends I hadn’t seen for a long time, a reunion vacation.

I put the kettle and  TV on.   The sound of emergency services,  the stressful pitch of the voices, the urgency and drama was clear before I’d even realised what I was seeing.   I watched as flight 175 hit the South Tower.   I cried.

Nearly 3  hours later at work, not much work being done, by anyone.   Many people just didn’t turn up,   those who did were phoning relatives and friends,  trying to reassure themselves that the people they knew who worked in the World Trade centre were ok. Everyone seemed to know someone who worked in the towers or lived nearby. The general sense of anxiety mixed with silence lasted all day and soaked into the future.

All flights in the US airspace were grounded. I never joined my friends in Greece, a small loss in the whole scheme of things. My parents, in Italy, had nowhere to stay because American tourists, unable to get home, were staying in the hotel rooms  my parents had  booked

That day changed my world

less than 2 weeks after arriving in the USA I’m in a project meeting with 10 Americans mostly wearing the pants (UK = shorts) of the khaki cargo variety

programme manager: wendy, can we get a time on that deliverable?

wendy: a fortnight

silence

more silence, I have no idea what’s happening

team leader: did you say 4 days?

wendy: errrr, no! a bit longer, more like 2 weeks or 10 days if my weekend goes for a burton

programme manager: lets touch base after the meeting

This prompted much giggling from the team. I knew they wouldn’t understand ‘go for a burton’, I hadn’t anticipated that they also wouldn’t understand ‘bit’. Most British English speakers understand American English, many American English speakers do not understand  quirks of British English.

I picked up and started using American English phrases while mostly maintaining my British accent. The Hispanic American staff in the canteen couldn’t understand my accent unless I used an American pronunciation.  I started imitating American English to get tomatoes with my burger. Thinking about how to pronounce my vowels made my fake American accent delivery rather slow. Amused people in the canteen line (UK = Queue) commented that I sounded like a Texan, because of my  drawl.

Since returning to England I have maintained many Americanisms, they are understood.

falling over

When I lived in the US my job provided comprehensive healthcare insurance. I fell over on a green slope while learning to ski. It felt like I’d broken my left, writing, arm. A friend drove me to the local hospital accident and trauma centre

It took 90 minutes to drive there, it felt like 90 minutes

checking in

 The centre’s foyer was like an empty hotel foyer, large tropical fish tank, carpetted floor, quiet with easy listening music playing. A lady in a blue suit sat at the large oak reception desk opposite the double, automatic doors. The lady asked me what was wrong, to see my insurance card, then gave me two paper forms to complete and explained that the financial adviser would see me in a minute. There was no sense of emergency about the situation. When you’ve just broken your arm, it hurts and your sensible thinking can go to pot. Maybe she didn’t hear me the first time so I repeat:

wendy: I think I’ve broken my arm, its the one I use to write with, the form probably wont be legible

receptionist: do your best

She didn’t look busy, she could have offered to complete the form on my behalf.  It fet impersonal, like my NHS experiences. Unlike the NHS, the environment screamed of wealth. I slowly filled out the form with my other hand, then waited

It was probably only five minutes later, but it felt like an hour…

Can we get money for this?

Another lady in a business suit introduced herself and walked me into a side room where she photocopied my card and forms. She then filled in more paper forms on my behalf. I wanted to scream:

Where’s a doctor? I want to see a doctor! it feels like an elephants trampled on my arm

Clearly they needed these forms filling in and copying, my crying and screaming would just delay everything by making me incoherent and her difficult to hear. She took me back to the waiting room and reassured me that the doctor would be along soon. Pressumably they were flying in a doctor from another State

It was probably only five minutes later, but it felt like an hour…

Should we X-Ray the patient?

A lady in pristine blue lab coat introduced herself. Hooray! This must be the Doctor. She took me to a large room of empty trolley-beds and asked me to sit on one. She drew curtains around the bed, which felt weird because I wouldn’t need to take any clothes of and there was noone else in the room. Getting onto a trolley bed that is higher than your natural bum-height, with one arm, when you’re in shock and pain is not easy. She watched me struggle without offering help. It made me want to cry, but I wouldn’t be able to hear or answer her questions if I cried so I fought off the tears

The lady used a checksheet to ask me monotone questions… “no, I’m not likely to be pregnant“ …I giggled, a little light relief.  The X-ray nurse would be along to pick me up in a couple of minutes, when the x-rays had been developed I would see the Doctor

wendy: You’re not a doctor?

nurse: No, I’m a registered nurse

It was probably only five minutes later, but it felt like an hour…

Get the patient to the X-Ray machine

The x-ray nurse turned-up with a wheelchair, repeated the questions the registered nurse had asked then offered me the wheelchair

Wendy: I’ve broken my arm not my leg

nurse: enjoy the ride

I felt bullied to conform to her expectation that I use the wheelchair. Asserting my preference to walk might lead to confrontation and cause tears, I wasn’t up to confrontation. She watched as I carefully slid from my trolley and moved into what looked like a racing wheelchair. 6 or 7 xrays later she unceremoniously dumped me back at the trolley. This time I stood instead of wriggling dangerously back onto the trolley. I suspect the hospital charged my insurance company for wheelchair and trolley rental – both unnecessary. As the nurse left I noticed the signs forbidding mobile phone use. My only entertainment device, forbidden

It was probably only five minutes later, but it felt like an hour…

Instruct the patient on proper behaviour

A Doctor appeared! He glumly showed the x-rays while announcing that I’d broken an arm. I think he was disappointed by my lack of of surprise at the diagnosis because he went on to chide me for not having made it more obvious that my arm was broken.

Apprantly, saying “I think I’ve broken my arm” to the 4 people I was required to meet before him didn’t count as making it obvious that I had broken my arm.  He was quite clear about my poor performance as a patient, more crying was required.

I started crying about being reprimanded for failing to follow a hospital behavioural code that I didnt know existed.  The Doctor demonstrated his skill of ignoring tears while he prescribed earth-movingly strong pain killers and talked me through the treatment regime. I never took the pain killers. If he’d waited until I had stopped crying I could have asked him not to prescribe pain killers, not to charge my insurance company for them. But he wasn’t there to listen or understand. The Doctor was all about delivering instructions.

The lecture probably only took five minutes, it felt like 5 minutes of detention in the headteachers office…

Get reciepts and discharge the patient

Checking-out of the emergency room involved more form-signing,  another visit to the financial lady, and another visit to the receptionist

I’d collected an armful of paper forms at different stages in my visit. The discharge added yet more to the pile.  Each form decorated with my, new, right-handed signature

A spider dance

Next…

It felt like being gagged, prodded, and pushed along a clean and good-looking production line.  I was ‘the patient with insurance’ not wendy who believes that being aware of internal pain is mainly a good thing and  conversations will include critical misunderstandings if one party is crying and ignored 

If a miner incident like this is made distressing merely because the services are set-up to remove illness, not treat people – the prospect of a long term relationship with medical services becomes frightening.

Unlike people in the USA, at least I know that I will get some form of healthcare from the NHS whether I have an income or not

Scribble inspired by Nick’s post on how a desperate uninsured US man commited a crime to get healthcare provided by the prison service

Jac Malloy posted this picture in my flickr group ‘Piano’s place in public‘

This is one of 16 placed around the city of Austin (Texas) as part Luke Jerram’s Street Piano’s project and Austin’s Art Week. The Street piano’s project has placed over 400 pianos with the simple instruction ‘Play Me, I’m Yours’ in cities around the world.

The piano’s are decorated by local artists, anyone can play them for as long as they want. On this blog post a young family plays on a bridge for kayakers and joggers. The pianos in public give people smiles, strangers talk to each other, people dance, people pull-out thier isolating headphones and listen to the people nearby. So very beautiful.

A statesman article reports:

Each piano’s location was strategically chosen, Walker said, so that one piano is often within earshot of another. He said he hopes people playing will be able to respond to one another, a sort of call-and-return musical duet traveling above the hubbub of an increasingly growing city. A professional tuner is assigned to each instrument to make sure all remain in working condition for the duration of the exhibit.

But the exhibit goes further than simply adding a little flavor to downtown street corners. It is mostly designed to change the way people relate to their urban environments and to instigate a sense of ownership within local residents about where they live.

People grow used to how their cities and local environments look and feel, Walker said. “Play Me, I’m Yours,” draws people’s attention so that they can no longer ignore their surroundings, he said. The point of the exhibit is to disrupt that familiarity with both music and the curious presence of an instrument typically seen in people’s homes

Visitors to earth from planet Wendy see the marketing of high healed shoes as institutionalised violence, targeting females. For some inexplicable reason hobbling, the risk of broken ankles, is an attractive female characteristic.

Women are the only exploited group in history to have been idealized into powerlessness.

Erica Jong

The majority of females are complicit in perpetuating this violence. Visitors from planet Wendy are baffled by this complicity. Visitors keep their befuddlement under their stylish hats lest they cause offense, identifying themselves as targets for the near ubiquitous, rigorous enforcement regime.

What shoes should I wear to demonstrate my lack of complicity without attracting non-compliance social penalties?  My tastes rarely coincide with high street fashion. My criteria for yesterday’s shoe purchase trip, in priority order, were

• must not introduce a risk of bodily injury when walking – I can fall over without artificial aides.
• comfortable – definitely bouncy soles and soft uppers
• can be worn to walk 4 miles per day on sidewalks and in buildings
• please or amuse members of the public, work colleagues and clients when I wear them to work
• give the impression that I’ve dressed-up a bit for a trip to the Theatre, Garden or Dinner party
• colour should sort-of go with some of the clothes I already own. A fairly open criteria favouring blue, black, grey, brown, white and orange.

I’ve wanted a pair of red shiny, low-heal, soft soled shoes ever since I first read the Wizard of Oz. This pair of Kansas hoppers closed the deal in the time it took to try them on. I only visted 2 shops, RESULT!  All my criteria filled and MORE!

Waiting decades before finally meeting these shoes adds a special relish to our union

Unwrap the Edam, the cheese is on me!

The Pacific North West, and Florence, two of the worlds most beautiful places. Death Cab for Cutie came from a town in the Pacific North West and named themselves after a Bonzo Dog Doo Dah band song. So many good connections, there are more….

Death cab for Cutie sang Meet me at the equinox

trees are evil

with this one comment you intrigued me and raised the possibility that you were ever so slightly on a planet very distant from planet wendy 

How does that work, how are trees evil?

With an earnest expression you explained how they obscured street-signs so that you missed your turning or got lost in unfamiliar areas. They dropped leaves on sidewalks making them unclean and more slippy than is acceptable. They harboured birds that could poop on you as you walked underneath.  As you started the litany of tree crimes I had to work to subdue my smiles. As the list grew and your earnestness was maintained I felt the need to defend the behaviours of the trees, but decided not to take a contrary position on a topic that clearly raised strong emotions.

Later that evening you mentioned your allegy to mud, dirt.  In the ensuing conversation I let a giggle slip through. Not good, from then on I became the accomplice of the evil conspiracy. You needed to aggressively eradicate me, like dirt. Luckily, you moved to California before I felt the full force of your hygiene enforcement

This is often the first question that I’ll ask the wait-staff at the door of a restaurant* in England.  Many, probably most, English restaurants use a booking system where you phone the restaurant in advance and book a table for your party.  In my early adulthood, I came to understand that if a restaurant accepted walk-ins that meant it wasn’t good-enough to attract sufficient custom to warrant a booking system. A restaurant worth avoiding. Promoting scarcity is an established purchase persuasion technique, for example, think of how airlines will often say ‘only one seat left at this price’.

Restaurants that accept walk-ins are becoming more common in England, reflecting the more American style of first-come, first-served, or take a ticket and wait inline. When I first moved to the US I found the fact that you had to queue to get into many good quality restaurants a somewhat irritating pactice. I never really got used to it. I find fun in the notion of booking a good meal with the company of good friends, several weeks in advance, adds to the excitement and anticipation. Being able to walk straight into a restaurant knowing you are going to be seated and fed in a reasonable time is also a very pleasing experience. Both the restaurant and the customer are being respectful of each others resource management, as customer, this is a good use of my time.

* this use of the term restaurant excludes Pubs, Cafe’s and chain eateries with a substantial US presence such as Yo! Sushi, TGI Fridays, Wagamama…

In the US it is an exclamation of disappointment.

In the UK it is a noun describing someone’s sexual proclivities. 

It still makes me laugh when a US friend writes bummer on my facebook status giving my English friends something to snigger and smirk about.

wendy: i think I must be lonely

mary: rubbish, you are the least lonely person that I know, you just spend a lot of your time on your own

We met several months before.  We both started a ‘mountain glacier hiking’ course.  At 60 Mary was the oldest person on the course. She had not signed up as part of a couple nor was she treating the course as a mate-finding opportunity.   How refreshing. I soon started to seek-out Mary’s company while hiking and during the rest breaks.  I quickly tired of the chattering from other hikers, normally affluent couples considering what gear to purchase, what restaurant to recommend.

At 60 Mary’s love for her terminally-ill bed-ridden husband was not stated, but it beamed stronger than a lighthouse.  She recorded our hiking sessions, the beautiful scenery and laughter,  for him with her new digital camera.  He could feel part of an active interesting life because she sought this life out and carefully bought it back to his bedside with love. What a fabulously generous heart.

I fell in love with Mary. Not the love that hungers for sexual validation. Not a love that needed to be returned.  There was deep peace in her company. Knowing this I invited myself to her home in the foothills of Mount Ranier. The home she had built with her husband before his death so noticibly stepped towards him.

wendy: can I help you gather the leaves from your garden?

Mary: yes. they  will fall as fast as you’ll be able to gather them

After a morning gardening, mostly in silence, we went inside and Mary finished the home made french onion soup.  She talked while she stirred. Talked of how her father raped her and how the authorities didnt believe her story. Talked of how her sister committed suicide. How she left her bilogical family and built her own new family.  How she worked to help abused children and beaten wives. Clearly she has known and seen more loneliness than I could feel.

The cedar dappled autumn sun played on her face.  No tears, no frown lines.

It seems we have both found some form of peace amidst life, in the silences

wendy: it’s a birthday, maybe we can’t have fireworks but I’ve got some sparklers we could use

hostess: who’s birthday?

wendy: the USA, independence day. I’ve got a flag

hostess: please don’t bring it

One August we stopped in the small town of Chesaw that had a Rodeo ground,  a bar, and half a dozen teenage smokers hanging around. A small town in Okanogan highlands (Okanonogan pronounced like tobogan). 

We went into the bar an ordered the only thing on the menu – a burger.  The 5 other people in the bar sat on high stools with their gaze glued to the TV screen showing a live Mariners game playing 3 hours south in Seattle.  While waiting for our burgers a small dark object like an oversized fly repeatedly bashed itself against the window pain.  I pointed this out to the barman and asked if I could open the window to let it out.  The barman took a pint glass,  placed it over the hummingbird,  slid a beer-matt underneath then took it to the open door and shook it out,  just as I have done many a time with a wasp, or spider. 

Excellent burger

I’ll always remember my first hummingbird

The upcoming cartoon  ”Cheyenne Cinnamon and the Fantabulous Unicorn of Sugar Town Candy Fudge” is about “a Strawberry Shortcake pop princess that lives in a candy wonderland just outside of Detroit. She comes into Detroit and helps solve problems of racism and teen pregnancy with the power of love and teen pop songs“.   The lead cartoon character lip-synch’s to sing the pop songs because the actress is a country and western singing star,   not a pop singing star.  

What a fantastic cartoon idea.   I love it when the Americans self-parody like this.   They are self-parodying aren’t they?

Vegetarian ex-psychiatric nurse John Darnielle’s talent and presence  was one of the exquisite highlights of living in the USA.  

The mountain goats sang This year

You can use this US government website https://esta.cbp.dhs.gov computer system for FREE!

To submit a request to travel to the US , an ESTA. Lovely. Then you’ll be photographed and fingerprinted on arrival and they might let you in. Lovely.

HahahahHAhaHAHAHahahahaha (the sound of manic laughing fading into the distance)

Apparantly US English is classed as an ethnic minority version of English.  

The Seattle Federal court building is very impressive in both size and contemporary design.   The architects  NBBJ  provide a  project description of the building on their website.   The Seattle Daily Journal of Commerce also provides some statistics and stories about the building.  

Unlike the  Reading Crown court I was:

• - allowed to take my camera into the building but had to promise  not to take  photographs.
• - warned about the $100 for my cell-phone ringing in a court room.  
• - required to produce a photo ID.  
• - directed to a standalone touch-sensitive display system with terminals on every floor  that provided information about the court cases and the building.

I asked if the Murals and Sculptures in the huge atrium were exceptions to the no-photography rule.   Alas,  they weren’t.     Like the English Crown court the Federal court deals with criminal cases.

Its difficult to estimate the ‘interestingness’ of a case from its title on the  touch sensitive display system:  ”The USA vs (person or corporation’s name)”.   I chose a court where I discovered the judge was accepting guilty pleas and setting pre-sentencing requirements such as psychiatric and drugs assessments.     The two  cases I watched  were illegal drug possession (Valium, Zoloft)  by a diabetic in pain because of a kidney disorder who had just lost her job in a pharmacy.   The second case was a violation of a parole requirement  to avoid alcohol by an alcoholic.

A striking design feature of this courtroom was how similar it is to the court-rooms I’ve seen in US films.   There is a central isle through the public gallery to a low gate marking the entrance to  the main court area.   The barrier is purely symbolic,   anyone could step over the low-wall,   gate dividing the court from the public gallery.  The public and the lawyers enter by walking down the isle.   In the UK the door to the public gallery appears to be separate none of the court officials have to walk through the public.   Depending on their status the  accused enters  through the public gallery (not yet  proven guilty of anything) or  wearing  prison gear from a door in the main court area.     Just before the judge entered the room the court clerk banged a gavel three times and called out ‘all rise’.

The Seattle  federal court building has the  declaration of independence decorating a low wall and is reflected (backwards) on the the floor in front of the Court building.   This struck me as curious.   A supersticious person might think that the declaration of independence written backwards was an omen of loss of freedom.    Writing the document on the floor means  that  any one can walk on  it,   placing it on a long low wall is just too tempting for many dogs whos natural inclination  might well be considered disrespectful of National treasure.  

female escrow agent dressed in a cowbow outfit for an internal morale event: do you have thanks giving in the UK?

Wendy:     …..

cowboy escrow agent: oh,   no,   its all about the pilgrims and the Indians so you probably don’t

(Warning:   anyone with aversions to bulleted lists should avert their eyes after the next sentence)  

The July 4th parade in the City  formerly known as Bug  is by far the most engaging,  relaxed and  inclusive I have ever experienced.   Inclusiveness includes:

• Buses to Baseball teams,
• Karate clubs to cheerleaders,
• Hairdressers to hospice staff,  
• Logs to dogs,
• Milk to mariachi bands,
• Moped formation riders to mexican restaurant football team,
• elected officials to racing cars,
• submarines to saxophones, and of course
• Tractors,   Tractors and more Tractors.

Some people even drive their tractors to the parade  for a good view.   Everyone  cheers and waves at everyone else.  

An all around  love fest of everyday life.  

South West UK:   mostly cloudy with outbreaks of rain

unlike like outbreaks of acne,   outbreaks of rain can be pleasant.   Misty fog with rain and drizzle can seem appealing when you’re not suffering from floods,   like the UK.

North West Pacific:   icky sticky

Here in the NW US,   despite proximity to  rain forests and mountains  on the west,  a reputation for rain and  yet more  mountains and deserts on the east,  we’re having a  hot sink.  

Even the kitties are panting for air conditioning.    

There is definitely a miner surge in the  icky-sticky ratings understated in the weather summary:

I confess to be in search of an image that somehow captures my archetype,   stereotype, of the US.   The unexported America,   not the internationally spread coffee houses,   fast food chains,   cans and bottles of soft drinks.   The image must capture something of what is and something of aspirational.   I doubt my photographic skills will adequately capture and convey this image, if it exists.   Here is a placeholder that caught  part of the my archetype.

It  captures the styling of the  classic red pick-up truck and  the white picket fence.   I rarely saw them in the UK where box hedges appear to be the  territory border marker of choice.  

The overhead lines, on tilted poles, are seemingly ubiquious.     What’s missing from this picture?  

• boys in baseball caps and khaki cargo pants  
• manicured,   pedicured, pony-tailed girls chewing gum and announcing ‘like, a whole bunch of,   like,   is all’.  
• much loved tractor  
• healthy perky dog

What would your photograph include?

Do not underestimate a North American’s need for ice cubes.

If you  haven’t been raised with the ever-present  ice-cubes of North America their necessity is not obvious.   Practically edible makes the following points:

“In Europe, however, Ice Cubes are not so omnipresent…       ….In North America, though, serving drinks at the right, chilled temperature does seem to be a matter of life or death for its inhabitants. Ice Cubes have therefore become a very complex topic”  

Practically edible suggests that the difference evolved due to space constraints with Europeans not having sufficient  superluous space to house large freezers or use their limited freezer space for ice when it could be used for to ensure more nourishing food items last longer.    My experience suggests that the existance of ice in the drink is more critical than the temperature  to the North American experience.    

 You can even buy pre-packaged,   unfrozen, ice-cubes from “Ice Rocks”!   Now that’s just a bit too silly for me.   In the NW USA you can buy bags of ice-cubes in the supermarkets.    

Iced drinks provide one way to stay cool in hot southern States and desert areas  .   When crossing the USA last summer taking breaks  at soda shops to cool ourselves with an iced  drink was a pleasure in a way  the UK climate would not induce.    During this drive,   encouraged by my native companion, I  tried a drink made with ground-ice and flavouring,   a ‘Slushy’.  

Wikipedia summarises the North American ice cube addiction using cultural comparisons:

“Traditionally, drinks in the United States are served with ice; in Europe they are served with or without ice. In India and other parts of the world, it has traditionally been viewed as unhealthy to drink something with ice in it; today, many older Indians still refuse to use it”

Can you imagine a North American  trying to feed an elderly Indian an ice cube and the Indian STILL tries to refuse it?   Outrageous!   How ignorant can you get?   Nevermind,   the younger Indians are more susceptible to the propaganda of ice cube necessity so resistance will eventually die out.  

I wonder what impact ice has on your taste-buds or your ability to digest efficiently?    I couldn’t find anything enlightening on these topics online.   North Americans can get very testy over  lack of understanding of their ice addiction.    Examples of North American’s flaming Europeans for not indulging the ice addiction on Answer.com.  

The Wikipedia ice cube entry closes with this caring warning for people not familiar with the complexities and dangers of handing ice cubes:

WARNING: For your own safety, do not attempt to freeze any part of your body.

Aerial circus star Clyde Pangborn and playboy Hugh Herndon, Jr., captured the Japanese prize with a glorious belly-flop in Wenatchee, Wash., in 1931.

I passed this hangar while faffing around in East Wenatchee.   Then discovered this colourful article on the    HistoryNet    (above title).   Local Washington State boy Mr. Pangborn was quite a character,   he went on to  join the RAF (Royal Air Force)

A ‘prince of quacks’ in Queen city.   Dr. Roy Pierce’s medical elixia appears to be an exemplar of ‘medical quackery’.   He created,   marketed and patented the ingredients of a range of ‘medical’ products.   There is a wonderful humour in the well-maintained barn-painted advertisement for this phenomena (medicine quack) of the wild-west.

respect the pole on this International workers,   Labour day.   In Seattle many  immigrants celebrate by peacefully, silently,  marching downtown.   Last year it was described as “A day without immigrants” raising awareness of their often invisible contribution to labour in major cities all over the USA.      The USA allocated a different day to celebrate it’s workers,   in  doing so it left this international day open,   for its international community, its  immigrants.

Nurse:   what’s the problem?
Wendy: I’ve had a fever for 3 days
Nurse: what’s your temperature?
Wendy: I don’t know, I don’t have a thermometer (feels extremely  guilty for failing this social communication requirement,   I haven’t transformed my experience into a standardised, shared,  language a  thermometer scale)
Nurse: how do you know you’ve got a fever?
Wendy:   alternating between profuse sweating and cold shakes with some hallucinations?