Americans can’t queue.

They’re not like the Italians, who approach a queue with the very best of intentions but are so overwhelmed with the intensity of their passions when they see the bus arrive, or the beauteous visage of the bank teller, that they’re compelled to rush forward en masse, turning a nearly-straight line into chaos. Instead, they’re more like a small child that has seen adults queueing before, and thinks she knows what’s going on, but hasn’t quite grasped the nuances yet.

The problem, as far as I can tell, is that Americans don’t see a queue as an entity in and of itself. Instead, they see the queue as a means to an end, and the thing foremost in their minds is achieving their goal, and not participating in the queue. I see it on the subway, I see it waiting for elevators, I see it in any shop with multiple servers or any bank of machines where there’s no roped-off single line. This last case is the one that causes me particular heartache: let me attempt to demonstrate with the below picture (which, incidentally, shows the interesting case in Saudi Arabia where men and women queue separately.)

Let’s imagine there are three servers at the counter in this McDonalds, each of which has only one customer, and that there is one person waiting in the centre a few steps behind those being served. I, naturally, stand behind this person, creating a single two-person queue, members of which will be served by the next available server. An American arrives behind me, and sees (in their mind) a two-person queue for the centre till, and no queue for the other tills. They then immediately walk up to one of the side tills and form their own queue. I cry a little and take out my smartphone to look for flights back home.

New Yorkers, by-the-by, don’t even queue. Instead, they stand or wait on line – and it took me quite a while to realise that people weren’t talking about being online in some bizarre situations – and I’ve never heard someone ask “is this the line?” or “is this the queue?” but always “are you on line?”.

The British, on the other hand, take queues very seriously. Even when there is no space to form an actual queue, Brits will find a way to establish one. A common techniques is “who’s last?” or “you’re after me” (verbally or through eye-contact) with nods and hand gestures to quickly show the server at the front of the queue whom to see to next. Queueing etiquette can briefly be summarised as first come first served, with the caveats that one may not join a queue until one is ready to be served and that all those who intend to be served must join the queue in order.

A minor breach of etiquette is met with small stares that are not withdrawn until well after half a second of eye contact is made. A major breach is met with the harshest of punishments: tutting. Some overly modern Brits will attempt an even sterner response, stage whispering “can you believe that?” but actions such as this serve only to cause embarrassment to the speaker, not the originally guilty party. The perfect tut is formed on the lips, and well-seen, but just inaudible, and a person receiving two or more tuts is likely to leave the area never to return.

I, perhaps, take queues even more seriously again. After all, I spent many of the formative years of my life serving them in a variety of exciting jobs. At the city centre McDonald’s in Cardiff we had 9 tills and a five-person fast lane, where we set the ‘most customers served per hour’ McDonald’s record back in 2002. Even there, after an FA Cup final or Stereophonics gigs, I saw queueing etiquette followed and a remarkable a lack of pushing.

If that’s not enough to show my love, back in University, I was a member of the Queueing Society (QueueSoc) whose members subscribed to the reverse of the American principle, and would queue with no goal whatsoever. We even tried to bring members of the public into the fold, setting up queues to nowhere that went around blind corners, with the eventual aim of having a queue that led absolutely nowhere populated only by members of the general public. We even succeeded a couple of times in Birmingham city centre and, although people tried to look bemused as they came to the end, I think our unspoken message got through to them and that they were glad of a break from the rampant capitalism that causes the majority of queues in the centre.

Yeah, I’m a Pretty Cool Guy.

Xx

I like to learn. Last year, I decided to teach myself Braille (thanks xkcd), and since staying a night with a friend’s parents on my last trip to Britain and seeing his father’s impressive amateur radio setup, I’ve been learning Morse code. I can now therefore communicate with the Welsh, English, Spanish and French-speaking worlds, and also those who are blind, deaf, or a couple of nautical miles distant from me on the high seas. Although, admittedly, neither Morse code or Braille communication would be particularly interesting or speedy at my current skill levels.

Braille is written in cells (rectangles) of six binary dots, each either ‘on’ (raised) or ‘off’ (not). The maths-inclined amongst you will notice that this leads to 2⁶, or 64 possible permutations. The standard alphabet of Braille follow a relatively simple pattern, with a repeating pattern in the upper four dots that resets after 10 and 20 letters. So ‘a’ is the top left dot alone, ‘k’ (the 11^th letter) is the top left dot and the bottom left, and ‘u’ (the 21^st letter) is the top left dot and both bottom dots. The exception is ‘w’ which was not, in 1825, considered part of the standard alphabet.

This leaves 37 spare permutations (all blank is not used) which are used for punctuation, letters, and then common words or phonemes. As best as I can tell, the above, literally, reads:

‘capital-e-m-er-g-en-c-y [space] capital-t-e-l-e-p-h-[something]-[o?]
capital-p-u-sh [space] for [space] capital-h-e-l-p’

I presume the last two cells on the first line in some way complete the word ‘telephone’ but I can’t for the life of me see how. The only interpretation for the penultimate symbol there that I know of is a double quote mark (“) but this is clearly wrong. Confused Beatles fans amongst you should remember that they spelled out ‘Help’ on their album cover in semaphore, not Braille, which is why the symbols look different.

Once you begin to notice it, Braille is surprisingly pervasive, at least in New York. It is, in fact, mandated by the Americans With Disabilities Act in a wide range of scenarios, and companies are often successfully sued for failing to comply.

A common question I hear is something along the lines of ‘How do blind people find Braille signs in the first place?’ which, on the face of it, seems fair. The first thing to consider is that it’s rare a visually impaired person will see nothing at all. Low-contrast outlines, movements, shapes; these are discernible at various levels of quality that vary with the causes of visual impairment, and in individual cases. Further, visually impaired people will receive ‘Orientation and Mobility Training’ upon losing sight or significant changes in life (such as moving city), which teaches them both basic fundamentals and local conventions.

As an example, in America, all door signage for the visually impaired (which includes high-contrast text and Braille) must be placed 5 feet from the floor on the latch side of the door. Severe penalties may apply to those who unthinkingly place such signage on a door, leaving the visually impaired user vulnerable to having a door opened on their face as they read. This is a fundamental convention mandated by the ADA. In New York, a more local convention might be that each third column at a subway station contains a Braille sign stating which line the platform serves. In actuality, the placement of Braille on subway signs isn’t regular and most visually impaired people therefore seem to find them of little value.

[In Tokyo] Braille signage was thoughtfully positioned on the handrails of each and every stairway, top and bottom and left and right. Although I don’t read Japanese Braille, I found this most impressive. In the subway system in New York there is Braille signage on the occasional pillar, which I usually try to avoid! If I want to find signage, I have to ask a sighted traveler to show me where the sign is in any given station.
~Impressions of Japan from a Disability Perspective

Morse code probably needs little less introduction;- I doubt anyone isn’t aware that it’s a series of dots, dashes and pauses originally invented for use along electric telegraphs. You may not, however, have been aware that an operator’s style is known as her ‘fist’ (thus ‘ham-fisted’ is rather insulting to ham radio enthusiasts) and that operators can, supposedly, recognise one another simply from their fist alone. It takes a lot longer to learn than Braille and I’m still at my infancy, but it’s a very rewarding challenge.

The high seas and telegraphs aside, Morse code is popular in music, both retroactively, as when the BBC played ‘di-di-di-dah’ (‘v’) – the opening to Beethoven’s 5^th Symphony – to introduce ‘V for Victory’ during the Second World War, or in a much more modern fashion, such as it being the basis of the rhythm for Rush’s 1981 instrumental ‘YYZ’, which is the airport identifier code for their home airport of Toronto.

Finally, as a reward for reading to the end (I’m also a fan of operant conditioning), here’s one more Morse code fact for you to go and tell your friends.

That Cellphone ‘Message Received’ tone is Morse Code

You know the one I mean. ‘Dit-dit-dit, dah dah, dit-dit-dit’. Consult a Morse code chart and you’ll find that your phone is simply letting you know what’s about to happen: ‘SMS’.

Edit: I originally thought it was the cellphone interference noise that spelt SMS. Less excitingly, it’s actually just the standard ‘message received’ tone, thanks to Will in the comments, whose Dad it was that got me into Morse code in the first place).

Xx

New York is big. Really, really quite big. Very large, in fact. Massive, some might say. ‘The 27^th biggest state by area,’ one might misleadingly proffer, failing to mention that even this median placing amongst the US territories is still larger than England. Approximately 7,400 square miles of New York is covered with water. That’s an area the size of Wales (if we discount Ynys Môn, which is a strange little island anyway). Central Park alone is larger than Monaco.

New York isn’t just vast, it’s tall too, and I’m not just talking about the various skyscrapers here that each once held the title ‘tallest in the world’ until Asia started to feel a little self conscious and the folks there got competitive about their erections. See what I did there? The highest mountain in Wales, Yr Wyddfa (Snowdon), stands at a little more than a kilometre high. Ben Nevis, tallest in the British Isles, is a trifling 1,344m and a veritable dwarf compared to the highest point in New York, Mount Marcy which has a prominence of 1,498m and is located in the amusingly-named Essex County.

Things don’t stop above ground either. The NYC subway system is the largest mass transit system in the world, by length of track, and competes with Tokyo, Shanghai, Seoul, Moscow and London in the various other statistics (such as passengers carried), but none of those cities can truly compete once it’s pointed out that their mass transit systems don’t run 24 hours a day. And, in case you somehow missed the cultural marvel that is Die Hard 3, it shouldn’t be forgotten that the Federal Reserve Bank in downtown Manhattan holds about 25% of the world’s gold bullion in vaults 25m underground.

Depending on the credibility of the source you wish to believe, and how generous they are with their descriptors, between 200 and 250 feature films are shot in New York City every year (the majority of them on a Sunday morning, directly on the path between my old apartment and a hot breakfast), with 23 prime-time TV shows and 40,000 location shoots shot in the city last year. Wikipedia also has a wonderful list (with 59 entries at the time of writing) of films which feature the destruction of New York City.

In fact, there are few statistics about New York that don’t inspire some degree of awe. Whether it’s the number of active restaurants (over 24,000 according to the Deparment of Health) or the fact that more than one new restaurant opens every day on average, or the 6 million tonnes of garbage thrown out each year by residents alone, the figures are often beyond imaginable. Sometimes, whether you’re a tourist sticking to the guide books or a local going about your weekly routine, it’s easy to forget that the city alone has more new diversions being made available in a day (and I’m not counting shows, galleries and concerts) than one could possibly visit, and that exploring the state properly would take years.

New York is big. Very big. I’m going to try and see some more of it. Starting with that giant mountain I think.

Xx

One of the things that sets Capoeira apart from any martial art or other such activity I’ve enjoyed in the past is the strong musical focus it has. To the casual observer, it may simply seem like a more structured, melodic version of boys in a playground forming a circle and shouting ‘fight fight fight’ in Portugese but there’s so much more to the ritual and music than that.

Any game/fight in Capoeira will generally take place in a roda (circle, lit. ‘wheel’). In a roda libre there is nothing formalised;- capoeiristas will sing and clap, but other than a basic level of respect for those of higher cords (similar to the belt system in e.g. Karate), there’s not much else.

In most rodas, however, there is a lot more to know. There will be a bateria (percussive band), there will be a leader – generally a Mestre or instrutora – and the music and lyrics will determine how the capoeiristas in the centre fight one another. A slow, melodic song will lead to a graceful game with expositions of acrobatics and strength, whereas a fast rhythmic song implies an intense fight and allows players to take advantage of any opportunity to strike. Once the roda has fully begun, most songs have a call-and-response structure to build the energy of everyone playing and the tribal roots of the music are never more apparent than when this reaches a climax.

Specific songs will be used to signal the mood of the mestre, or of the roda in general, or for special occasions. Many of these are outlined on page 65 of the Capoeira Song Compendium and a couple of my favourite descriptions are below.

A Bananeira Caiu
When someone in the roda falls after doing some kind of handstand, this song is often sung, especially if he who fell is a tough guy.

Dona Alice
A song well suited to a game in which one capoeirista is getting a little too “clingy” with the other. For historical informations, Dona Alice was one of Mestre Bimba’s mistresses!

The bateria consists of a number of instruments, and learning these, together with a range of songs, is as much a part of a capoeirista’s development as being able to kick someone with an au giratoria (spinning handstand).

Probably the most important instrument is the berimbau, a tuned single-string wooden bow of African origin. Accompanying this are the pandeiros, which are similar to tambourines, and an atabaque, which is a standing drum played in a similar manner to a conga or bongo. Some other percussive instruments may also be used in larger rodas.

I now, therefore, need not only to learn Portugese, but also how to sing in tune. Wish me luck.

Xx

Whilst getting a train down to the Brooklyn Bridge last Sunday, I was very disappointed to realise that I’d manage to miss ‘No Pants On The Subway’ 2012. Remember, ‘pants’ only means trousers over here, something I thought I’d fully internalised, until adrenaline was sent coursing through my veins on a very crowded train during my experience as a Summer Santa at Santacon, when a girl turned to me and said “Oh my God, you’re not wearing any pants are you? I can feel that you’re not.”

But, it took me a while to realise what I’d missed. When I first boarded the train, and noticed a girl casually reading in her underwear, I thought very little of it. It wasn’t until Jimmi, my visitor from the UK, thought to point out this young lady’s attire that my housemate and I clicked what day it was;- and that we were a couple of hours too late to join in any large-scale enjoyment of it. I like that about the subway, and perhaps New York in general, that people are so accepting of pretty much anything they see that they’ll just dismiss it and get on with their business.

It’s not, as some cynics may have it, that New Yorkers are over-stressed, hyposocialised automatons who couldn’t care about anything other than the world within their little bubble. They have none of the eyes-to-the-pavement blank eyes that I saw all too often in the City of London — they’ll actively look up, notice, and gesture to their friends about anything out of the ordinary, it’s just that once they’ve done so, their only response is a little smile and, in the most extreme of cases, a quick photo for the Internet to enjoy.

There’s no judgement (today I learned it’s spelled ‘judgment’ over here, it seems I’ll never get the hang of American English), no heckling, no furtive stares or suppressed laughs. A good portion of the population neither know nor care whether you’re part of an Improv Everywhere skit, on your way to a fancy dress party or simply a free spirit who really thinks they’re dressed appropriately for the day.

For 16 year-olds hoping to shock and impress with their new-found individuality, New York must be a crushing disappointment. For the rest of us though, it’s a wonderful place to see some of the strangest things that people have to offer.

Xx

New York loves pizza. Sometimes I worry that I’m taking my own experiences and unfairly generalising but, in this case, the only self-doubt that exists in my mind right now regards whether I can make it through these 500 words without salivating so much that my keyboard becomes unusable; or bolting out of the door to grab a slice.

In the Old Country, we generally group pizza into two distinct types: Italian, or American. The former is available only after a waiter has painstakingly corrected your pronunciation and tutted disapprovingly at the wine (or, heaven forbid, beer or Coke) that you decided would be an acceptable accompaniment. It is very thin, often topped with salad and contains only a hint of cheese. Much like the wine, everyone pretends to enjoy it and even discusses the relative merits of their own pizza, but secretly, we’re all longing to nip down to Pizza Hut and stuff our faces whilst making the most of the unlimited drinks refills.

Pizza Hut, you see, isn’t just the go-to post-cinema date for 14 year olds who have found true love (and finally, something to talk about, courtesy of the film.) Neither is it simply a staple for students who’ve identified that the cheap lunchtime buffet can, with carefully executed strategy and a breathtaking ability to avoid eye contact with the staff, act as a substitute for up to four full meals. It is, to us, the epitome of cheesy, greasy, fattening American pizza. And that’s a shame. American pizza is varied – verging on the tribal – and infinitely tastier, and New York prides itself on being at the top of the pile.

One of the most distinctively American pizzas is the Chicago Deep-Dish pizza. This is best known in the UK via the, unfortunately terrible, frozen brand of Chicago Town pizzas. What these don’t manage to deliver in taste, consistency or use of real ingredients, they do at least get right in style, a deep-dish pizza is stuffed with cheese and topped with tomato sauce, and as the name suggests, is extremely thick.

In America, the word pie is understood by context to either refer to a whole pizza or fruity dessert goodness. One does not split a (pizza) pie into pieces, but rather into slices, and a single piece of cheese pizza is known, in New York at least, simple as a slice. Pizzerias of repute may be bold enough to emblazon their doors with the daunting “No Slices”, whereas their more down-to-earth counterparts might offer the hungry man’s holy grail: “Dollar Slices”. In ordering, one will simply state “I’ll have a slice”, bypassing any superfluous niceties or descriptors in order to quicker sate a need for greasy heaven.

The word ‘greasy‘ may, to the casual observer, seem almost pejorative, but when it comes to true New York pizza, which has evolved over generations from the traditional Neapolitan style brought by Italian immigrants into a cuisine in its own right, the right amount of grease is one of the measures by which a well-made slice may be judged. It should be thin, cooked in a coal oven (ideally, brick) and lightly topped with tomato then cheese. A New Yorker would never dream of eating their pizza in any way other than folding it once down the middle, and there is a definite art to elegantly and gracefully eating a slice in such a manner. When folded, the slice should noticeably crack, towards the crust, but the slice should retain its integrity and fold around this crack.

Further north, up in New England, Greek pizza may prevail, much the same as is found anywhere Greeks choose to cook such a dish. The dough is thick and chewy and pies are often topped with garlic and olive oil, eschewing the tomato-and-cheese rich paradigm seen elsewhere. Hawaiian pizza, with differing opinions on its distinctive pineapple topping having been the breaking point in many romantic trysts, needs little further introduction. To close, I’m afraid I have no experience to offer as regards California pizza which, I’m informed, is a generic term for any fresh fruit-and-vegetable loaded, vegan, breast-milk cheese or otherwise utterly bizarre pizza which is doubtless considered completely normal in that most interesting of states.

So, come to America, and when you do, don’t insist on making the most of your holiday by treating yourself to expensive meals at restaurants with candles and seats that aren’t held together with duct-tape. Grab a dollar slice, and don’t forget to let the grease drip off the top before you take your first bite.

Now, I think I need to clean my keyboard.

Xx