Who are you?

I'm Bapman.

Hello boys and girls. Today we're gonna talk about acclimation. More specifically, surprise-acclimation. (Surpracclimation?) I got off the boat from China and walked back into England to find a strange feeling of familiarity. It almost felt like coming home. Home? Is that right? Can England be my home? It's a strange notion for me. I didn't grow up here and although when in the presence of three or more limeys I might get an accent from time to time, I'm pretty American about the way I do things. (For instance, I tolerate queues. I don't revel in them.) I don't feel like it's right for me to call England my home, as I'm not English, nor do I ever plan to be. And yet, chere Angleterre feels more familiar to me than Virginia these days. It's an odd realization to stumble on (as I and countless others in history have) that while you're away from the place you deem home, that place and the people in are still moving and living and doing the things that people do, whether you're there or not. This isn't an Earth-shattering revelation, to be sure. But I think it's important to remember this.  

I know that I will come back to Purcellville to find a Taco Bell, but what other surprises does the old girl have in store for me? New roads? New speed limits? New houses spawned by malevolent, avarice-fueled developers, dumped without abandon in the countryside like a bad case of diarrhea? I don't know. It's a mystery to me. But Nottingham, it feels natural these days. If a Taco Bell shows up, I'll damn well know about it. 

This whole line of thinking creates some rather interesting geographical questions of a cognitive nature. Can homes be mobile things? Surely anyone who's lived in a trailer park will say yes. Ah, says I, but those are places to live. A home is more abstract than a simple box with furniture in it. It is a thing of meaning. And how about the multiplicity of a home? Is it possible to have more than one? In the past I would have said, "yes," but now that I think on it, England and Virginia have never shared home status for me at the same time. There's never an easy footing in this realm of geography. Cognitive geography is such a hazy place all of the time. Until technology reaches a point where humans can share their cognitive geographies, contemplating it is merely mental masturbation.

Since coming back to England, I've noticed or have been re-reminded of things in the country. The first is somewhat pleasant. It seems that every time I go through customs, the person processing me through is always super-interested in me and what I do. My ever-sagacious Uncle Gene would tell me it's because I look like a terrorist. I don't think this is the reason. It's more of a general human interest that these customs officials seem to have. When I came into the country a few days ago, the fellow at the desk asked me all sorts of questions. "Why did you decide to study in England?" "How are you finding it here?" "What's your favorite pub food?" "Do you like pina coladas or taking walks in the rain?" That's par for the course. It's kind of nice, actually. 

I've also come to love the bap. Black American Princess? No, a bap is a fluffy on the inside, crispy on the outside sandwich bun.

This is a bap. A Bacon Bap to be more precise.

Anyone that knows me, knows my love of the sandwich. Given the ability to give high fives to historic figures, Jesus would receive the first, but the Earl of Sandwich would get the second. The sandwich is, without a doubt, the finest and most important invention in the history of mankind. More important than the alphabet, the automobile or even the printing press. I could go through life illiterate and riding a donkey as long as the sandwich still existed. Automatically, you might understand why bread plays such an important part in my life. I don't know why it took me so long to start using baps for my sandwiches, but since I have, the game has changed. I believe I have experienced  a point akin to when the first cave-people discovered that they didn't have to sit around waiting for lightning to strike a tree in order to cook their meals. Baps are that good.  Fixin's are also crucial, but in England fixin's are called *"salad." And I've known about "salad" for some time.

I've been having some intestinal issues of late, that I suspect result from the difference in foods since coming back from China. As a result, I must take my leave of you. And although we shall part, take solace in the fact that the toilets in this house have wide pipes and are nigh uncloggable.

May it never rain on your parade.

-Jonathan "I'm Baptastic Thankyouverymuch" Trenary

*It should be noted that the "salad" referred to here is not the code-name for steak and cheese sandwiches that my father used to use when he was trying to convince my mother he was eating healthy lunches.