The Brits Have a Term for It

Dearest Rachel –

More than most people, I’m quite well aware about of how we Yanks and the Brits are “separated by a common language.” On this side of “the pond,” my name is just that – a name – while over there, it’s not used as a name for the very reason that it is an adjective, and not a particularly flattering one, to say the least (despite the fact that it’s pretty accurate for a man throughout the better part of his life – and you may take that word ‘better’ however you wish, I might add).

I’m pretty sure that at some point in our mutual college careers, I explained the meaning of my name to you – and if I neglected to do so, I’m pretty sure the rest of the Sextette would’ve enlightened you at some point, because that’s what friends do – they embarrass each other. Thankfully, if at any time you were actually put off by the ‘truth in advertising,’ you did your best not to let it show, and eventually learned to quite literally embrace it – which I hope that someday, if she exists, Megumi will do the same.

In any event, my point is that I’ve been well aware of the differences between American English and British English for a very long time, for very personal reasons. Of course, there are a vast number of terms that we don’t share between our two cultures, even if we can generally figure out what the other is talking about within context. As a comedian of theirs once put it, “you folks say ‘truck,’ we say ‘lorry.’ You say ‘elevator,’ we say ‘lift.’ You say ‘president,’ we say ‘stupid psychopathic git.’” Although, in fairness, if they had as much power as our president, we would probably be saying the same thing about their king and prime minister. Thank goodness we have a we had a revolution in order to circumvent that. And it’s not like our president has that much power, anyway; he keeps mentioning that “they,” whoever “they” are, won’t let him say certain things, or take questions from the press, so clearly, he’s not running the show…

I keep telling myself not to let politics enter in to these letters, and I keep proving unable to avoid it. Sorry about this, honey. I know we used to enjoy debating the subject now and again, but it is rather unseemly for me to bring up the topic. Back to the one at hand…

I mention all this, because Logan, for reasons I’m not entirely clear on, was required to be at work this morning by seven o’clock – which is usually around the time that he wakes up of a weekday. Ordinarily, he’s out the door at about eight-fifteen, give or take ten minutes either way. Since it’s more than common knowledge in the house that I’m trying to hit the gym every other weekday (Monday-Wednesday-Friday, to be precise), he requested that I help him wake up in order to get ready and out the door in time. Sure, he has a couple of alarm clocks, for his own part, but every little extra bit helps, I suppose.

Now, in reference to my earlier discussion on Britticisms, it turns out that they have a term for this sort of thing; it’s called “knocking up,” because I’m to knock on Logan’s door until he wakes up. Makes perfect sense, when you think about it. However, over here in America, we use the verb phrase “to knock up” as well, only it means something rather… different. Something that really doesn’t make as much sense, when looking at the words making up the phrase – and certainly nothing that either of us would want (or be able) to have any part in. Credit to our old masters, I guess; their phrase is more useful than ours.

As it so happens, there are a few layers of irony to this task, in terms of execution. For one, while Logan claimed to be using multiple alarm clocks, I was up by four-forty without even bothering to set one. To be fair, I was in bed by nine-thirty, but so was he (well, ostensibly; I could hear the sound of a podcast emanating from his room as I walked through the laundry room to drop my clothes off). And when I did get upstairs to knock on his door, he was right there to answer it – evidently, the whole ‘multiple alarm’ system worked without having to rely on me after all. Still, there’s always something to be said for having as much backup as possible, especially if it’s an unusual situation that your job is depending on.

Now, if only I could get Daniel to be so conscientious about something… anything…

***

Oh, and… for what it’s worth, I did manage to put in another seventy minutes at the gym. Still not sure how the app calculates my time; it said I’d passed forty percent of time goal even before I took to the treadmill, but once I was done with that, I should have passed fifty. Maybe it only measures in twenty-percent increment?

And I reached a new low, as well. Nothing outstanding, just one more pound beyond my last mark, but ground taken is ground taken – at least, for the moment. Who knows, maybe I’ll be able to lower my ceiling soon, from 230 to 225.

In any event, keep an eye on me, honey, and wish me luck. I’m going to need it.