Attitude

According to research conducted by the Univerisity of Zurich, American passengers on the doomed Titanic were 15 percent more likely to survive the sinking than were British passengers. Beyond nationality, the study looks at survivability statistics according to class, age, and sex.

In an article in the Daily Mail, the lead researcher Bruno S. Frey surmises, “The British were much more aware of the social norms at the time. They would have been more likely to stand in a queue and wait their turn for boarding the lifeboats than Americans.” That is, Americans were probably pushing and shoving to the front of the line.

Reading this makes me reconsider ever saying to my kid, “Would it kill you to wait your turn?”

Download an abstract of the study here. Interesting stuff.

Wow, the New York Times gave a grudgingly good review to the romantic comedy Last Chance Harvey, starring Dustin Hoffman and Emma Thompson as the unlikely lovers. From watching the trailers, I think this film will be an Anglophile’s dream with its UK setting and script, as evidenced in the clip above.

Last Chance Harvey wasn’t on my radar screen this movie season, but now it looks like there’s something at the theatre I might be able to get my husband to in the next couple weeks. He has yet to forgive me for The English Patient. My penance was agreeing for the rest of our married life to sit through every Star Trek sequel without complaint.

Yesterday’s Telegraph ran a piece by its US editor, presumably a Brit living here in the U.S., listing his top 10 most annoying American phrases, phrases that “infuriate” him.

I realize this is a tongue-in-cheek piece in honor of the great holiday Festivus, but “You’re welcome?” Seriously? “Uh huh” is the usual response I receive when I say “Thank you” to a store clerk or anyone under the age of 21. I’d keel over to hear “You’re welcome.”

And in my many (we won’t say how many) years of living in the U.S., I’ve never ever heard someone say, “Let’s visit with each other.” Have you? What Americans tend to say when saying goodbye to a friend or family member whose company they’ve enjoyed, “We should get together soon” or “Let’s meet up again.” It’s shorthand for, “I’d like to do this again, but I’m too tired to dig into my purse for my planner.” Plus, you’d come across as too eager and desperate to reschedule another visit on the spot. If you don’t like someone’s company, you might say something like, “Nice seeing you again” and leave it at that.

As for “Happy Holidays” … Here in the northeastern part of the U.S., I live amongst many Jews, Muslims, and Hindus, so it would feel totally inappropriate for me to blindly wish folks, “Merry Christmas!” Maybe if I lived in a more homogeneous part of the country it would be okay, but for now I’ll stick with my p.c. “Happy holidays!” and risk pissing off a cranky Brit here or there.

Here’s my pet peeve Americanism, something I’ve only noticed here in America in the land of chain restaurants, establishments my unapologetic middlebrow husband likes to frequent. When a server comes over to take our order, he’ll *sit down in our booth* and then say, “My name is Mike and I’ll be your server. How are you guys today? Great! Have you been to Longhorn Steakhouse before? Terrific! Can I start you off with drinks?” This is always delivered with saddlebags filled with mock cheer. America and its damned democratic ideals at their worst! Everyone’s got to be equal. I’m sorry, but when I sit down at Longhorn Steakhouse, I want the waiter to take my orders and bring me my food, not plop down at my table and pretend he’s a friend who actually cares.

I’m always tempted to ask for a bucket in these circumstances, but to preserve marital accord, I zip it.

What Americanisms and Britishisms bug you? Add yours to the comments below.

I read about Sarah Lyall’s The Anglo Files: A Field Guide to the British on Bethanne Patrick’s Book Maven blog a few weeks ago, and immediately knew I had to read this book. The night I purchased it, I brought it to bed to read. Within a few minutes, I was laughing so hard my son begged to know what was so funny. I couldn’t explain it to him, as it involved a joke about hemorrhoids and the British penchant for euphemism.

Some background on Lyall: she’s a reporter for The New York Times who was sent to London in the 90s to report on the British. (Nice job, eh?) While there, she met then married an Englishman, so she has something of a unique perspective on British/American relations.

Lyall’s a fine writer with a good eye for detail; it’s clear she’s done her reporting for this book (hanging out at Parliament, running around London with a man who wears gold lamé underpants) and she does a terrific job weaving threads of history, literature, and politics into her stories. Another thing I liked about the Anglo Files is that Lyall doesn’t fall into that trap of disparaging her American roots or making fun of those quaint British folks in their queues — likewise, she doesn’t pit one culture against the other culture. This is much a book about the British view of the world as it is what it means to be an American standing in the midst of that world.

There were chapters in this book that made it worth the price of admission, such as one about Brits and their attitudes toward sex, and another at the end of the book, an analysis of the British stiff upper lip and if it’s going soft (to wit: the mass outpouring of emotion after Princess Diana’s death). I also loved the chapter about the reform of the House of Lords. If you’re fascinated with the British class system and how it works, then there’s a lot in this book that’ll scratch your itch. There’s even a discussion of why Brits love to use the C word.

Other chapters I skimmed or skipped altogether, such as the one about cricket. If cricket is boring to watch, which is Lyall’s initial claim, it’s even more boring to read about. The book is loaded with footnotes, too. I’ve noticed some reviewers complain they’re too distracting, but I thought they added a lighthearted touch.

The Anglo Files is a book I highly recommend to other Anglophiles.

I read with interest this morning a special in the (London) Times about British hypochondria and admit was baffled at the piece’s premise, that the British bellyache too much about every ache and pain. And here I’ve been, admiring the nation’s stiff upper lips for all these years. To me, British forbearance can best be summed up by the infamous fight scene in Monty Python and the Holy Grail. After King Arthur lops both the Black Knight’s arms off, the Black Knight proclaims, “It’s but a flesh wound!”

On the other hand, I think of my maternal grandmother, born of hearty British stock. My father used to laugh at her because she kept a calendar in her kitchen and every day would write down what ailed her. On the  6th, it would be “no stools.” The next, a “strange tingle along left jaw.” She had years of these calendars stored in the dining room hutch.  A routine visit to the dentist would result in “the worst pain I’ve ever had in my life,” upon which declaration my brother David and I would start asking her, “More painful than breaking your arm?” “How about being shot in the eye with an arrow?” or “It can’t be worse than having a baby!” until we we were either banned to another room or slapped.

My grandmother died this spring. After eating her breakfast, she lay back on her pillow, closed her eyes, and passed away. She was 100.