Tuesday, August 21, 2007


The Asshat's in town tonight. Raising money for our OWN asshat, Normie Coleman. GAH!

Traffic's a bear tonight. Thanks Dick-head.


One of my "blogger-circle friends" is dealing with homesickness. See, he's been away from the States, studying in Wales (of all places) for a year now.

I should say that Chris is a tonne more popular than I am. He's actually a real columnist and such. In fact, his Latest Column is out right now. And strangely enough... It deals with 'missing' home.

Normally, I'd respond to him directly, but... Actually, as the strange feelings that he's dealing with are quite universal, and also emotions that I've personally felt in much the same circumstances as he and his Child-Bride are feeling... Well...

(Okay, I've got nothing better to write about at the mo', so I'm stealing an idea... And butchering the English language, rather than tickling the keyboard with the smooth writing-style of a true writer. I hope, by giving him tonnes of links, he'll forgive me.)

It generally IS the 'year anniversary' of being far away from home, that one really gets it in the gut. I'm serious. The course I was taking in England had quite a few "International Students" on the program. The 'year' was the worst of the homesickness. And it's funny... I discovered there's two 'types' of reactions once that particular anniversary is past: One, you get over it, and begin to really feel as though your CURRENT place is your home; two, you never really do, and you begin the 'count-down' to returning to your former homeland.

I (luckily) found myself to be in the former group of ex-pats. After that first year in Canterbury, I discovered that I slowly began to 'fit in' in England. It's like, you pass some sort of exam after making it a full year. The 'natives' get used to you... The guy in the corner shop starts calling you by name. Nine of the 22 pubs you frequent have bar-staff that call you by name AND know what you're going to have when you darken their door... The homeless folk selling The Big Issue, knowing that: "Naw, he always buys from Shane, and doesn't need another one." Etc...

My former house-mate was one of the latter. She couldn't wait to get back to the States. She complained constantly about the small refrigerators in Britain, the Page 3 Girls in the Sun, the fact that the temps never seemed to get above 21° C (70° F) even in the middle of Summer... Constant rain... I could go on, but you get the idea.

I don't know, but for some reason, after a year, I became British. I embraced my new culture, I dealt with the fact that I always had to shop once a day for dinner, as my frig wouldn't hold very much food, and that it would allow produce to rot within three days even though it was meant to be a refrigerator... I started looking at the 'Page 3 Girls' with my lesbian friend and bartender Sarah, and discussing their, ahem, attributes. I gloried in the cooler Summers, as Minnesota has horrific heat and humidity throughout the season.

I don't know, I just really fell in love with England.

So, right now... You're all thinking... "Man, Tuckmac is lucky, he really enjoyed his last 14 months in Britain." or something like that. Well... You're right. I did have one hell of a good time my last months in England. However, there's dangers to 'becoming one' with a different place and culture. That danger is 'reverse-homesickness.'

I'm not pulling your leg... I've been back in the States for approaching two years now... And...

I'm homesick for Canterbury.

Dreadfully so.

Every day I think about 'home' in England. I think of all the friends I've left behind... I think about what they're doing, what they're thinking... Where they're living (as most of them have left Canterbury, and moved elsewhere).

My Lady and I are agreed to moving BACK to Britain in four more years... We're planning for it, and doing everything in our power to get skills and experience that we think will help us to find work in England... We're chaffing at the U.S. Government... the U.S. Heath-system (or lack thereof) we're chomping at the bit of time... Just waiting, sweetly and impatiently waiting for the time when we can return HOME to Britain.



Chris... You have yet to discover which 'type' of ex-pat you're going to be. I have a feeling you're going to fall into my type... Becoming one with the place you're in, and not being the same ever again.

It's a sweet sort of pain, that you take on becoming British... But... It IS sweet. And you'll be an amazing person the rest of your life, not that you already aren't so...

Hang in there. It gets better, or it doesn't. Man... Does that suck, or what?

To my friends and family in Britain... Please!!!! Don't forget me! I'm coming home soon.