Public transport

In my first few months in LA, I got around by bus - and didn't think much of it. For sure I became aware of the sorry state of the US pedestrian, as I struggled to reach my bus stop across six lanes of impatient traffic. But the act of taking a bus was surely nothing out of the ordinary?

In fact, it seems that it is. I have casually mentioned it a few times in polite society here, and have been met each time with a sort of sympathetic wince, as if my life must have known some truly dark days. A note of caution enters the conversation, like I might go on to reveal that I had just got out of prison, and the subject is quickly changed.

In London, the tube and bus system is a standard way of getting around the city, for just about every layer of society. Amongst the hordes of people cramming themselves onto a rush hour tube, you are  just as likely to trip over the umbrella of an investment banker earning millions, or be wedged into the armpit of a member of parliament, as you are to jostle with the city's lowlier workers.

Looking back, I realize that an LA bus is quite different to a London tube. The passengers tend to be Hispanic and, if truth be told, look more like they are going to office buildings to clean them rather than sit in them. There are school kids, and pensioners, and the occasional oddball like me who doesn't know any better. But in the end, the message could not be any clearer - in LA, you drive a car. Plain and simple.

This contrast between London and LA is to a certain extent a result of area and population. London is trying to move many more people across a much smaller space, so there is some logic to packing everyone into larger units. But I think there is more to it than that. To an LA resident, a car means freedom and self-respect, and with that much of what it means to be an American. However bad the traffic gets here, it is not likely that public transport will ever be able to compete with that.

American anger - Part 2

A few days after this episode with Paul and the angry man, I was watching Piers Morgan debating the gun control issue with one Alex Jones, a passionate defender of Americans' right to own guns, and also the instigator of a petition to deport Piers Morgan for his very public anti-gun stance.

Now Piers Morgan does have an annoying face and this, combined with hearing an opposing view on an emotive issue like guns, could lead even the most saintly to raise their voice. But this does not do justice to the reaction from Alex Jones. In fact, to say he went berserk, ballistic or stark raving mad, would not even cover it. 

He raged that it would be 1776 all over again and that the republic would rise up in protest if their guns were to be taken from them. He ranted, screamed, on and on. And I started to feel as I did when the man in the coffee shop was berating Paul the poodle - sheer embarrassment that somebody could display such emotion in public.

Irrespective of what either of them was actually saying, I marvel at a society that can accept their displays of emotion and anger, and move on. Alex Jones has attracted some ridicule for what he said, but people don't seem to mind him totally losing it one day, and then expecting still to be listened to the next.

The English tendency to suppress anger has led to a more cordial society, but one where grievances tend to be nursed in private, where they can grow out of proportion and feed all sorts of passive aggressive acts in public. Ugly as it is to watch, maybe we can learn something from this American willingness to scream and shout, to let all the emotions go, and not to mind who is watching.

American anger - Part 1

Recently I was sitting on the outdoor terrace of a coffee shop, drinking a cappuccino and reading a book. At a nearby table was an overweight man and a woman. He appeared to be an advisor of some sort, judging by the way she just listened while he talked, seemingly at great length about matters of grave importance.

At another table was a man tapping at a laptop, with a white poodle at his feet. I'll call the poodle 'Paul'. Paul had organized himself on a towel laid down for his benefit, and was surveying the scene around him. Evidently the scene did not impress him much, because after a while Paul started tugging at his lead, pawing at the towel and yapping at passers-by.

"SHUT UPPPP!" This came from the advisor man, who obviously didn't appreciate being interrupted while dispensing wisdom. Paul looked at him irritably, trying to decide if the man was of any use to him at all. He thought not, and continued yapping. The man tried a theatrical "ssshhhh", Paul was not convinced, and his owner remained engrossed in his laptop.

The man went to the washroom. He took a few minutes and reappeared looking grim, in a way that made me sympathize with the mother and son going in after him. He glowered at Paul, and continued to hiss and shout until, having lost the flow of their advisory session, he and the woman finally gave up and left. Paul at last persuaded his owner that enough was enough, and they left too.

What struck me about this was how unafraid the man was to make a scene over something that annoyed him. As an Englishman, I might whisper to my friend about the wretched dog ruining our coffee break, or complain at length when I got home, or let the irritation fester inside me for a few days. But shout, and get emotional in public? That would just be too embarrassing, surely?

Police in the US

I have realized that whenever I see a police officer here I tend to be on my best behavior. In the car I will sit up straight, arrange my hands in the 10-to-2 position on the steering wheel, and proceed in careful observance of the speed limit. And in person I might make a show of picking up some litter or helping an old lady across the street, hoping for a nod of approval from the officer for my public service.

Why do I do this? In the UK I was appropriately law-abiding, but wasn't so eager to please those enforcing the laws. Maybe policing is done differently here, and is more effective at gaining respect?

Certainly the US police seem somewhat cooler than their UK counterparts. Names like LAPD and NYPD give a strong identity, even if they sound slightly like a venereal disease. American police cars are all gravitas as they patrol the streets, while the British police busy about in their Vauxhall Cavaliers.

In my mind, in the UK there will always be "bobbies": a bit paunchy, a bit "ello ello what's goin' on 'ere then",  and a bit prone to wearing improbably tall hard hats. Whereas in the US there will be, by contrast, "cops", with their guns, swagger and aviator sunglasses.

I had occasion to meet a couple of Los Angeles police officers recently (purely in a social context, you understand), and they were quite normal - probably no different to the men and women on the beat in London and Manchester. The names are different - more Carlos and Brent, than Nigel and Darren - but their outlook, manner (and, yes, their paunches) are familiar.

So whether there really is any difference in the quality of policing, or whether it is the glamorizing portrayal of the police in US movies and TV, it seems to work on the likes of me. It must be quite a relief to the authorities, as they combat drug trafficking and gang warfare, to know that the middle-class Englishmen will stay in order.

Piers Morgan

I never liked Piers Morgan when he was a newspaper editor in the UK. He came across as stroppy and aggressive, and I didn't feel much sympathy for him when he fell from grace and disappeared. 

In his new incarnation, with his own daily news show on CNN, he is much more appealing. He seems more at ease with himself, more human, and his style - still bolshy and opinionated - goes down better on this side of the Atlantic than in his home country. As a fellow Englishman in the US, I admire him for how respected he has become here.

He is now getting a lot of attention in the gun control debate that was sparked by the Connecticut shootings. Having decided that Americans don't get angry enough about these tragedies, he compensates by getting super-angry each night on his show. He berates pro-gun guests, almost hugs those against, and generally works himself into an undignified lather.

I think this public hissy fit performs a valuable public service - that of counterbalancing the pantomime baddies in this debate, the NRA. These are the people who suggest solutions like giving teachers weapons, so that they can pick off would-be gunmen between Math and Science and keep the school day moving along.

With Piers Morgan baying at the moon on one side, and the NRA practicing their commando rolls on the other, the politicians are left looking calm and rational in the middle. All the outrage, and stupid ideas, have already been used up, so surely the right answers are there for the taking.

If something good comes out of all this, then Piers Morgan will have done his bit - embarrassing as it is to watch. Good luck to him.

TV Commercials

I have spent the last few minutes trying to think if there is anything, in the world, more annoying than television advertising in the US. The Kardashian family possibly excepted, I really don't think there is.

You simply get bombarded - before, during and after your program - with everything from invitations to bonanza mattress sales, to images of cars sleekly winding along mountain roads, to demonstrations of the latest nose hair trimmer (when I find mine quite easy to use).

However I have found some light relief during commercial breaks through paying attention to the last 20 seconds or so of drug company advertisements. This is where the negative side effects of the drug in question have to be explained. "Taking this medication may cause you to break out in hives, spend 3 days on the toilet, or burst spontaneously into flame. Consult your physician if any of these symptoms persist". That sort of thing.

The best of all these is in a commercial for a viagra-type medication, which advises users to see their doctor if they have "an erection lasting more than four hours". Wow! At the wrong time of day this could make it quite difficult to go about your business. But I bet women all over the country, with husbands snoozing beside them in their armchairs, have quietly taken note of the drug's name. So even the warning can be part of the sale I suppose.

I'm going to have to think of other strategies for getting through commercial breaks. Sniggering at rude words will only get me so far.

Driving in Los Angeles

A few weeks ago I was driving along when a car nosed out from a parking lot into my lane, in a way that I felt required some outraged flailing of arms. The driver was a young man, sporting a large baseball cap and (probably) a pair of jeans riding somewhere around his knees. In response to my performance, he eyeballed me and, calmly but firmly, raised his middle finger. I felt silly, stopped flailing, and we both went on our way.
 
What a constructive exchange that was, I thought. I had released my frustration, he defended himself while acknowledging his error, and no damage was done - either to our cars or ego. Was this how driving in LA worked, I wondered - is there a sort of unwritten highway code of rude gestures, helping people to stay sane amid all the congestion and rushing around? So I decided to test it out.

A couple of days ago a driver behind me thought I was being too cautious in turning left through the gaps in oncoming traffic. He leant on his horn with such fury that I thought he might actually explode. So I mischievously raised a finger back at him. Well, it turns out that not all drivers in LA are up to speed on the unwritten code…

We turned left, he raced in front of me and gestured – with what I now saw was a meaty arm – to pull over. I’d like to say I did, and put him in his place with some excellent karate. Or deployed some silky British diplomacy, so that we shook hands and went on our way. Instead I hared off at high speed thinking “F*@!%^&*!!!”.

There followed 60 seconds which would have been comical if I had not been so petrified. I would turn into a side street, he would follow. I would whip round a car park, only for him to be waiting at the exit, eyes blazing and still gesturing for me to get out. Just as I was running out of side-streets, he gave up and disappeared, leaving my heart rate to return to some sort of normality.

Maybe, just maybe, I misjudged that particular situation. I guess I'm not quite an LA driver yet.