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The increasingly inaccurately-named blog of journalist and futurist Chris Taylor. Either the most sporadically brilliant amateur blog, the most brilliantly amateur sporadic blog, or the most amateur sporadic brilliance on the Web since 2001.
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Daily Blah FAQ
Who are you?
I'm the newly-appointed Future editor at Business 2.0 and the former San Francisco correspondent for Time Magazine.
Wow, so does this mean everything you write reflects Time Inc's opinion? Or do you perhaps have some sort of standard disclaimer to the effect that it doesn't?
Naturally, the opinions contained in this blog are not those of my employers. In fact, some opinions may be the polar opposite of my employers. Some may be the same, for all I know. Hey, it's not like I ask my employers their opinions about everything in the news, okay? Let's just say that if this were a Venn diagram with one circle marked "my opinions" and the other one marked "my employers' opinions", there would doubtless be some overlap. But neither I nor my employers are able to pinpoint exactly where that overlap is.
What is this Daily Blah thing?
An experiment for a column I wrote about blogging back in December 2001. All these years later, I haven't been able to kick the habit.
Do you write any other blogs, by chance? Could that have something to do with the fact that Daily Blah isn't always Daily?
Yes -- the Future Boy blog for Business 2.0. And yes. If you want true, editorially-mandated daily coverage from me, that's probably the best place to look.
Mister, you talk funny. Are you one of them furrners?
Why yes I am, as it happens. I was born, raised and educated in Great Britain. I've been living in the U.S. since 1996 and identify as British.
I say, old chap, you forgot the "u" in "colour."
No I didn't. I may identify as British, but I am also an American journalist writing for an American audience about mostly American issues. These two different sides of me are a constant source of tension. Nevertheless, Daily Blah will adhere to American English grammar and spelling.
Praise for Daily Blah:
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Daily Blah for... Tuesday, April 04, 2006
It's Easy Being Green
Sitting on the mat when I got home tonight was a minimally-marked envelope; indeed, its minimalism looked so much like a junk mail ploy, I nearly threw it away. Thankfully, I noticed the Homeland Security logo peeking out from a corner of the transparent window. Then I felt a credit-card thickness between thumb and forefinger. Could it be? Yes, it could. A mere five weeks after my London embassy interview, five months ahead of when I was told to expect it -- maybe they were just really trying to lower my expectations -- my Green Card had arrived.
To address the first question most people seem to have about this damn bit of plastic: yes, a bit of it is green. Not the front; that looks like a driver's license, except for the fact that it has my right index fingerprint (and a right villainous print it looks, given the scar on that finger). On the back, though, it says "Permanent Resident Card" in white-on-green, and the following in green-on-white: "United States of America, Department of Homeland Security. The person identified by this card is authorized to work and reside in the US." First rule of bureacracy: never use a simple phrase like "Green Card" when a plethora of words will do.
Below that is what I can only describe as a neat bit of anti-forgery metallic shinyness. Various important things are imprinted on it -- every state flag, the Statue of Liberty, my face -- but the thing that stands out the most is Alaska. Not intentionally, I expect, it just happens to be filled in whereas the continental US is merely outlined. The DHS, after all, is not noted for its skills in graphic design.
The accompanying bit of paper told me some surprising things about my new status. First of all, renewing it -- which I'll need to do in 2016 -- is as easy as filling out a form, assuming I don't commit any major acts of international terrorism. Secondly, citizenship is pretty much automatic, if I want it, after five years. And thirdly, I can now start bringing boatloads of family members over to work here. Any interest, folks?
I'd been chastised by some fellow journos, on my return, for burying the lead -- taking the most important piece of information and putting it way down in the story, in other words, something we're never supposed to do in this profession. You got a green card, they said. Isn't that a big freakin' deal? And my answer was that it didn't seem real; that as when dealing with any bureaucracy, there was always one more step and potential slip; that I'd believe it when I had the plastic.
Now I have it, I can safely say it feels good to have. I can feel the accumulated stress of ten years of being temporary, of filling out long forms every time I fly back to the US, of being F-1 and H1-B and 0-1, of always having an end date, of being tied to Time Inc., all drain away. I've cashed out of the visa game, and not before time -- just as the whole immigration debate, a mainstay of politicians who want to distract us from their broken domestic and foreign policies, is hotting up again.
On the other hand, not much has really changed. I've felt like a resident for a long time already. Attention was drawn to my impermanence only in the brief, jet-lagged moments of border-crossing. Yes, I can work anywhere I want now. The cage door has swung open, and yet where would I go? "Well," a friend said today, "you've got a pretty nice cage." I had to agree.
I celebrated quietly, with some champagne and a first date. It seemed like a good night for new beginnings.
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