Saturday

Today was one of those mishmash days, a little of this, a little of that.

Though I definitely woke too early (it's never comforting to wake and notice a six in the leading spot on the alarm clock on a day that doesn't involve an early flight), I zoned until nine, then ran to Tesco for a magazine - and another pair of free flip-flops - to break my £10 note for laundry money. (Sad, no?) Leigh was right, as it turns out - Dryer #1 , which for some reason runs in 40-minute cycles, really will dry an entire load, even denim, and so I was able to leave my spiffy clothes rack down for the first week all year.

After that, there was time for lunch (still going on the pot pie...it's looking like Monday), followed by a two-hour, 4.6-mile walk into the New Town and environs. It was only lightly misting when I left the building, but just as I got to the Leith crossing, two miles from home, the real rain started. My North Face jacket, I fear, gets more wear than just about anything else in my wardrobe (or out of my wardrobe, as the case may be; I hang it on the wardrobe doorknob to dry).

Following my exercise, there was time to watch four episodes of Red Dwarf, read my new copy of Glamour, then take an hour's nap before dinner. After dinner, slightly bored, I headed to Blockbuster for a DVD, eventually settling on Tideland. I knew nothing about it, but it seemed more intelligent than my usual Blockbuster selections, like Tenacious D in The Pick of Destiny. Turns out that it's disturbing on several levels, with all of the Gothic fantasy of Big Fish and none of the warm fuzziness, and was widely praised and panned on its release. One critic called it a blending of Psycho and Alice in Wonderland. Can't go wrong there, I suppose, but I kept glancing on the timer bar, wondering how much more of that twisted story I could take and when someone was going to rescue that little girl and her Barbie heads. Worth a look, but it's not going down on my list of must-buy movies.

And now ResNet is down. Again. Twenty-four hours before they're supposed to take it down for a couple of hours to fix it. Have I mentioned lately how much I despise our tech team?

Not quite ready for Master Chef

Today was another cold and semi-damp day, and I decided, since I hadn't had one in months, to make a chicken pot pie. I didn't have a recipe, but I figured I could figure out some vague approximation of one without it.

Well, surprisingly enough, it worked. It's a lot chunkier than my mother's - I wasn't certain about amounts, so it ended up with a large can of corn, one of peas, four chicken breasts, and the better part of three potatoes inside, and I didn't even have room for the broccoli - and it's not the most beautiful dish ever assembled, but it tastes like a chicken pot pie. The good news is that I'll be eating off this thing at least through the weekend. The bad news is that my stomach, which has grown somewhat unaccustomed to meat and pastry, is currently letting me know its displeasure.

Mmm. Hurts so good.

Out and about in East Lothian

This morning, two of my Birmingham neighbors' lovely extended family took me out for a drive down the coast road to Dunbar, a seaside town south of Edinburgh. The day even decided to cooperate, weather-wise, and all seemed to bode well while we took morning tea at the Scottish Seabird Centre in North Berwick, an adorably posh little town with a dress shop that I would be quite happy to revisit with an AMEX and a more favorable exchange rate. (The dress was great, but I couldn't justify a $400 bill to Mom and Dad. You're welcome, Dad.) As we began our walk, however, the rain returned, and promptly soaked us as we wandered through town.

This is why it's not wise to invest in silk and suede in Scotland. Fortunately for me, my North Face jacket, dress pants, sandals, and purse are by now impervious to the elements, and by the time we reached the Dunbar Golf Club, I was mostly dry, even if the rain continued.

I have no idea how the golf is - my experience is a bit limited on that front - but the DGC is exquisite for its views, if nothing else. After the first three holes, the course passes through a wall and meanders along the Firth, which was showing quite an impressive surf this afternoon. Over lunch, we watched the soaked golfers come in to warm up and dry off, then leave just as quickly as the sun began to peek out. By the time our meal was finished, the dining room had emptied and the first green was full.

The outing was a real treat, but easily the funniest moment of the day was the brief conversation I had with an elderly lady at the next table who knew my hostesses, and who had quite possibly had a bit too much to drink today. After explaining where I was from, she smiled and asked, all seriousness, "Are you engaged to be married?"

Huh?

I told her no, that I'm just a university student, and she nodded understandingly. "Don't worry, you'll be snapped up soon enough," she reassured me, and we parted amicably soon thereafter.

Saddest statement of the day

From STV news this evening:

"Tonight will be chilly, with lows of 1C in the Stirling area."

(For the Celsius-impaired, that's 33.8F.)

At least the sun's out...

Precipitation

For some reason, Edinburgh has decided that proper June weather is 55 and rainy.

That said, when we went out to Frankenstein's last night, I decided to chance it and not wear the raincoat I've been living in for the last year, or carry an umbrella. On the way over, the weather held, but little did we know that the rain, this time accompanied with gusts for good measure, would return when we decided to leave.

Picture this: three sane people are in rain jackets. One's in a coat, but doesn't care. Ian's walking along, eating his pizza as the box gets soaked through, while I'm carrying mine and running into bus shelters every so often while the rest of the group catches up. When we got back, my makeup was running, my coat and dress were soaked, my hair looked like I'd just stepped from the shower, and the security guard was laughing. Bastard.

Today was less than productive - it's never a good sign when you have to redry your bangs pre-gym because they've dried so oddly the night before - but I did get to see the first episode of Red Dwarf on YouTube, which was quite amusing. Yay, Britcoms!

Two nights, two movies

To escape the constant rain/fog/unseasonably nasty weather we've been having, I treated myself to movies on Friday and Saturday night.

Friday's cinematic feature was Epic Movie, predictably bad but unavoidable. I've seen the Scary Movie franchise, and I sat through their stab at a romantic comedy, so I figured that a guy doing a Jack Sparrow imitation couldn't be all bad. And it is close, but it's not completely horrible. Just...random. How can you be anything else when you're combining The DaVinci Code, Nacho Libre, Snakes on a Plane, X-Men, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, Cribs, Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle, Punk'd, Pirates of the Caribbean, "Lazy Sunday", Talladega Nights, Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter, Click, and stabs at ninja movies, Sigfried and Roy, and Paris Hilton?

Saturday was the long-awaited advance screening of Shrek the Third (yeah, yeah...I know it's been out for a month already in the States, but things can be slow over here), which was amusing but slightly disappointing. I found the third to be the weakest in the series, though it still has its share of amusing moments. Many of these, unfortunately, were covered in the trailers, but I'm still pleased to have seen it. Bring on Shrek 4!

The haar comes on little cat feet...

...and like an old, obese cat in a warm spot, it refuses to budge for long. We've had either fog or torrential rain every morning this week, but yesterday had to win for most hours under low cloud cover.

The first picture was taken around 8 AM, when I finally dragged myself from bed. The second was taken around 6 PM, when, after a lovely afternoon, the fog rolled back again.

In better news, less than a month until HP7!

Night of much goodness

Despite the gully washer we were treated to this morning (and over dinner), today turned out to be rather pleasant. I managed to snag a pair of flip flops in this month's copy of Elle, and to do a little work in the meanwhile. Afterwards, there was time for dinner at Favorit - there's nothing quite like introducing someone to the wonders of Favorit nachos and waffles and ice cream in the same meal.

Once the rain let up, it was time for the Golden Hour, which was made even better with a bottle of something I'd never tried before, pear cider. It's quite smooth, with a distinct finish, and though I do enjoy my Strongbow, I'd recommend this one as well. Still, no one quite tops Ryan, who when we left had downed at least a liter of wine on his own. The beard doesn't lie; he's a man among men.

Last week's roundup

I've been something of a slacker in the past few days about updating my blog. Well, it hasn't entirely been my fault.

From Wednesday through Saturday, Ella and I were on the oh-so-lovely Isle of Skye, just off the western coast of Scotland. It was incredibly gorgeous - sunny, cool, and truly photogenic. We stayed just outside the little town of Broadford, which is really one street. That's large by Skye standards. Broadford isn't the most happening place on the island, but our B&B in Harrapool was pleasant and inexpensive, and I highly recommend it. What I don't recommend is Creelers, apparently the best restaurant in town, whose sign reads: "Gumbo Shack, Art Gallery, Tapas Bar". (It's a small island, you've got to consolidate. There was also a walking store that sold gifts and lingerie.) Creelers' food was fine, but I'm not about to pay £14 for a bowl of gumbo. No. Quite honestly, I doubt anyone on Skye would know a bowl of gumbo if it jumped up and kissed him.

Portree is the "capital" of Skye, meaning it has more than one road and all the buses pass through it. We took what was essentially the school bus into Portree every morning - there's only one high school on the island, so all the kids piled on and headed in - and then hung out near the pastry shop and cafe for an hour until we could pick up buses north in the 10 AM shift. We took one up to Dunvegan, which has a great little castle and a teeny town; after walking back from the castle, we had to stop a local to ask if there were anywhere we could get food, and she knew of one cafe. The next day, we took a bus on the Trotternish peninsula loop and got off at Duntulm Castle, which, though it was marked with the same icon used at Dunvegan, is little more than a pile of rocks in a sheep pasture. Uncertain what we should do for the next two hours, we decided to walk in the direction of the next bus stop along the one-lane road the serves as the only thoroughfare around the top of the island, passing through Kilmaluag, which is a nearly non-existent settlement with a charming art gallery and a Church of Scotland that alternates Sunday services with Staffin, some fifteen miles down the road. At least the weather was amazingly cooperative - the sun was shining, the birds were singing, and the sheep were giving us strange looks.

I returned from Skye on Saturday night, but opted not to blog in favor of bed. Sunday morning was church - a whopping seven in the choir! - and then, about 1 PM, ResNet decided to die.

Grr...

Service was restored yesterday around 11 AM, after we were sent e-mails informing us that Internet service was down. Gee, geniuses, think we couldn't have figured that out on our own?

Last night, I went to the airport to meet Jackie, who had just come off YGC tour and will be living in Edinburgh all summer. As she pointed out, it's amazing to have never met someone and yet to know exactly who and what the other person's talking about. Considering that we know a large chunk of people by virtue of being in the YGC, we had plenty to talk about. I headed home afterwards to catch the last hour or so of Leigh's birthday party, which was complete with Chariots of Fire, an unopened 750ml bottle of Irn-Bru (have fun, Michael), chocolate cupcakes, pin the tail on the donkey with our faces on the tails, balloons, and party hats. After the movie, we engaged in half an hour or so of hitting the balloons around the room, and then Ian and I started fencing with balloons, which worked until mine decided to pop ingloriously. Ah well, he's the better fencer, anyway.

I planned to blog after that, but guess whose ResNet is down again?

Kate's had the brilliant idea to tally the number of hours ResNet is down, calculate the billing rate, and then submit a refund request to Accommodation Services. Not that they would honor it, but it might make us feel better. Jerks.

Fun with oral hygiene

The television has been hawking this odd British mouthwash for the past few weeks, so when I saw it in a trial-sized bottle yesterday, I decided to give it a go.

Dentyl claims to be unique. The chemicals inside separate into two colored layers that you then need to shake up to activate. There's no alcohol involved, and weirdest of all, the makers claim you can see the results in the sink.

Uh huh.

Well, I will give it this: minty freshness is nice, but there's something vaguely amusing about seeing greenish precipitate in the wash basin. No wonder the girl in the commercial covered her boyfriend's eyes.

If I truly like the stuff, I can buy it off Amazon.co.uk and have it shipped, but that would be like paying $10 for a bottle of mouthwash. Scope will suffice in the future.

Confusing the visitors

This morning, a large group of Presbyterians from Boise joined us at church, nearly doubling the size of the congregation (the choir, however, was a bit lower than usual at only three). Their story was cute - their minister has been doing a correspondence Master's course at St. Andrews, and his graduation is in two weeks, so he invited the congregation to come along and said they'd make a tour out of it. From here, they're going on to Glasgow tomorrow, then up the coast, out to Skye, and back down the eastern seaboard to St. Andrews in time for him to walk. Most of the tourists can't go to the actual graduation, but there's plenty to do in St. Andrews to keep them out of trouble.

Despite the haar and our guest organist, who played everything at approximately dirge speed, everyone seemed to have a nice morning, and I had many exhortations from the church ladies to go mingle with my compatriots.

I spent a few minutes talking with one of their ladies over tea after the service, and after a moment, she sort of squinted and asked, "Are you from around here originally?"
"No," I laughed, "Birmingham." Pause. "Alabama. Our Birmingham."

Around here, one must specify.

Snip

After seeing Rachel's lovely cut on Thursday night, I decided to finally take the plunge and go to Cheynes for a trim.

I realize it's just a haircut, but this took some soul searching. I haven't let anyone but Susanne at Trocadero touch my head in years, and I've never actually paid for my own haircut. I know, it's sad, but since I went home once a season during college, I've never gone longer than three months or so without getting coiffed. Six months on, however, my ends were looking rather shabby and split.

Long story short, Cheynes is very nice. Their shampoo chair reclines and has a built-in massager, and I really could have carried it out with me and installed it in my dorm room. I got an appointment on the same day, my stylist was only about fifteen minutes behind, and she was quite good.

Cheynes is interesting in that you pay different rates for more experienced stylists - being a student, I of course opted for the bottom tier, to my mother's consternation. She was even more shocked when I revealed how much it had set me back:

"You payed $60 for an inexperienced stylist?!?"

Well, when you put it in pounds, it doesn't sound quite so bad. Plus, Ashley the stylist called my bangs "fringe", which amused me to no end.

Thursday night out

Without classes or full-time employment to give real structure to the week, the days seem to flow into a long cycle of wake, write, eat, sleep, repeat. The weekend has lost some of its luster because, with the exception of Sunday mornings, it's pretty much like the rest of the week.

That said, having the freedom to go out Thursday night has its perks.

We went to a bar called Siglo last night, which was virtually empty at 9:30. Sadly, the dance area upstairs (including the pole) was closed off, but the DJ kept playing cheesy pop, and the bartenders, at least one of whom was in training, were friendly. The trainee actually misjudged the amount of mixer needed in a cocktail, resulting in a free drink for Rachel. I am fairly certain that I had the cheapest night out - in an effort to actually drink something Scottish over here, I had a Grant's, which took me about two hours to finish. Whisky is definitely an acquired taste.

The poor trainee bartender actually carded almost everyone in the group as well, to mixed amusement and annoyance. Ruth and I dodged the bullet; I'm not sure how she did it other than by looking rather sophisticated, but I think mine may have had something to do with ordering straight whisky.

Siglo was followed by Three Sisters, which gave us a group of sketchy older men, an accommodating DJ, and Michael's amazing rendition of the Hammer Dance, after which it was widely agreed that we can now die happy.

Chemical dependency

It's official: I have a coke addiction.

Coke Zero, to be exact.

My stash ran out two days ago, but I didn't bother going to Tesco to replenish until just now. "It's okay," I blithely thought, "no worries, I can just drink tea to fill the gaping hole next to our tainted water in my beverage schedule".

Ha. Haha.

Today, staring down at the last few packets of my Splenda box with a splitting headache and thinking about how now would be a great time to stock up on sweetener, it finally came to me that yes, caffeine is a deeply entrenched part of my life, and that the occasional cup of tea doesn't cut it. As much as I love (and consume) peppermint tea, the caffeine receptors in my brain have wised up to the fact that herbal teas don't have that magic ingredient, and besides, when the heater decides that the perfect time to come on full-blast is the middle of the afternoon, a cup of hot tea's about the last thing I want. (A tall glass of Milo's Famous Sweet Tea would be ideal, but with my luck, someone at Customs would seize it for no good reason.)

It could have been the dissertation I proofread after lunch that started it, or perhaps it was the stress of losing ResNet for the second time in 48 hours, but when even a healthy dose of Bill Bryson and an hour horizontal did little to alleviate the headache, I knew there was only one cure.

As I write this, I'm knocking back a semi-chilled cold one. Cold turkey's for the birds.

Free pizza night

Grad school is really like undergrad in many ways. We sleep at weird hours and rise later than the rest of humanity. We can spend the day in pajama pants without a second thought. We can, and do, find any excuse to procrastinate and then complain about how much work we aren't getting done.

We'll also go to nearly any lengths for free pizza.

Tonight was another of Richmond Place's free pizza dinners, or what I postulate is the warden's way of saying "Sorry about the hydraulic drills and the tainted water". He orders dozens of Papa John's pizzas, puts out a few bottles of Irn-Bru and wine, and watches us descend like starving locusts. It doesn't even matter if we don't get the toppings we like - 'free' is the best flavor of all.

The funniest part is watching people try to take leftovers home. Many come down with tupperware to score a free lunch for the next day, but a fortunate few manage to sneak out a bottle of wine. For that, o masters of the strategic outerwear, your kitchenmates salute you.

Resolutions upon reaching semi-adulthood

After nearly five years of higher education and one particularly lousy residential situation, I have come to a few conclusions about things I should do in the coming year, when I officially end my time in parentally-funded academia. In no particular order:

1. I will return the credit cards to Mom and Dad. I have mooched for the last 23 years, and it’s time for me to give them a break.

2. Whether I rent or own, I will have my own washer and dryer.
a. As cash will no longer be an issue, I will separate my laundry into whites and colors.
b. I will also buy detergent that costs more than £1, and dryer sheets.

3. I will have a dishwasher as well, but I will remember that some pans must be pre-scrubbed. I will not, however, take steel wool to a Teflon-coated skillet.

4. I will clean on a regular basis. The bathroom will be cleaned weekly. The dusting may be less frequent, but it will happen.

5. I will recycle, as long as there’s a bin nearby or pickup service.

6. Remembering that I come from a Gulf State and that shrimp originating in the North Atlantic or Vietnam are not fit for human consumption, I will cease to buy anything called a “Value Prawn”.

7. I will learn to prepare foods that do not originate in boxes.
a. I will also collect a decent selection of recipes that make attractive party dishes. You never know.
b. I will, however, remember that all meats and most vegetables taste better after the application of barbeque sauce.
c. I will learn to prepare ethnic cuisine, as pad thai is some of the best comfort food on the planet.

8. I will remember that oatmeal and other cereals are not part of a balanced lunch or dinner. I will also remember that ramen has no nutritional value whatsoever.
a. I will still continue to snack on dry cereal, as it has more fiber than, say, Cheetos.
b. I will also continue to buy low-fat ramen, because I am lazy like that.

9. On occasion, I will make myself eat a vegetable other than peas.
a. I will not eat asparagus in abundance.
b. I will remember that iceberg lettuce has no nutritional value whatsoever.
c. I will continue to eat multiple servings of fruit per day, even if most of those servings involve discount citrus.

10. I will limit my trips to Starbucks, not for political reasons, but because their coffee is freakishly expensive.

11. Remembering that adage about a fool and his money, I will not purchase organic products just because everyone else is.

12. I will have my car serviced on a regular basis. I will also wash my car, and not just clean the windshield at the gas station.

13. I will adopt something furry and canine to remind me that yes, I am loved, and no, I am not the center of the universe. I will also buy plants, which, knowing my luck, will probably die.

14. I will cease to be so hard on Southern American English. I may drop the occasional terminal G, but I will remember that half of Britain is unable to pronounce a terminal vowel without tacking an R on.

15. I will try to cultivate a vague interest in politics without becoming too cynical.

16. Remembering that not everyone likes New Age, Irish punk, or symphonic metal, especially not in combination, I will purchase at least one CD of jazz/mood/ambient music for social occasions.

17. I will learn to appreciate films that do not involve CGI, fantasy themes, riffing, lust-worthy actors, Mel Brooks, or Will Ferrell. I will, however, continue to maintain that Twister is underrated.

18. Though I have learned the stress-relieving powers of swearing, I will refrain from doing so around children under 12, my employer, my pastor, and my mother.

19. I will maintain contact with people from high school, college, and grad school. This is what e-mail (and the occasional letter to the convent) is for.

20. I may not like AP style or some of the nuances of Chicago, but I will get over it. I will not relinquish my Oxford comma unless forced.

21. I will keep a gym membership and will work out at least three times per week. Weather permitting, I will walk on the off days. The aforementioned canine will need exercise, even if I don’t feel up to it.

22. I will bear in mind that it is possible to have a good night out without drinking. I will not, however, be afraid to have two drinks in an evening.
a. I will remember that alcohol is caloric, though, and will request Diet Coke the rest of the time.
b. I will learn to drink something besides cider, sweet wines, and vodka mixers, but I will remember that shots are overrated.

23. I will not be afraid to fall in love, but I will not jump into bed with the first person to catch my eye.

24. I will remember that the world is a big, crazy, diverse place, and that not everyone does everything my way. That’s what makes life fun. I will attempt to limit my Type A anal-retentive tendencies around others.

25. I will stop being so hard on myself. I am not perfect, and no one expects perfection of me.

Fun with the Sunday paper

I only buy the newspapers if they're running promotions. The Sunday Express showed a commercial last night advertising their two-week giveaway of Beach Boys songs, so I thought I'd pick up a copy this morning.

Well, listening to the CD, I can say that it isn't quite what I expected.

The Beach Boys' tracks I remember were mostly recorded in the 60s, when the guys were...well, young. The CD included in the paper is a split copy of Good Timin': Live at Knebworth England 1980, which was released in 2002 and never charted here or in the USA. It's something of a letdown, to be honest. While I'm not a huge fan of the band, I do like a few songs ("Sloop John B" comes to mind), and these versions are a little lackluster, especially in the falsetto parts. First, it's a live album, with all the problems that entails. Secondly, it was done in 1980, and according to Wikipedia, this was the last major UK performance for the original members, who were all approaching middle age by the time this was done.

I'd overlook these failings but for the paper's bizarre decision (and they're not the only ones who do this) to fill second half of the disk with unknown British pop songs, none of which are even thematically close to the Beach Boys' tracks. One is halfway decent, but still...guys, come on.

Bathing in disinfectant

In the latest chapter of the Richmond Place Hates Us saga, notes were posted everywhere in the building yesterday to alert us to the commencement of the final (yeah, right) phase of the pipe installation project.

Just a recap: this project, of which we were not informed when we signed our leases, began last October and was supposed to end in May. Theoretically, it will give us more hot water, but all it's given us to date is Specific Heat workmen making noise in the hallways, weeks of hydraulic drills in the courtyard, the loss of our front gate for at least three weeks while the cobblestones came up, random water outages (including toilets), Saturday morning scaffold-building, the stench of new asphalt, and a complete brush-off from Accomodation Services every time we complain.

This last phase should be fun: for the next eight weeks, the pipes need to be flushed with a chemical disinfectant to prepare them for use. Now, while we've been assured that this chemical isn't toxic, it will probably make our water taste odd, so we're encouraged to use our kitchen taps, which connect directly to the main, to refill our water bottles.

Our showers, I suppose, are another matter.

One person on my floor went ahead and looked up the disinfectant, and claims that it isn't terribly strong, so while we won't be bathing in chlorine, we will be bathing in something peroxide-derived.

Thanks for nothing, Accomodation Services. May your legs grow together.

I have no upper-body strength

After avoiding it long enough, I'm on a quest to improve the tone of my arms, which have been displeasing to me for...oh, just about forever, really. On my gym days this week, I've added a brief circuit around the weight room, hunting for the machines that will magically improve my triceps.

Yeah, right.

The depressing thing about beginning strength training is that beginners are usually weak. Granted, it's not like I'm using the varsity gym - when I hit the machines, there are usually only about three other people there, most of them middle-aged - but seeing that someone has set your machine on a triple-digit weight load which you then have to cut back to the first or second notch is embarrassing. I've never been able to do a pull-up (I am, however, very good at hanging there and looking awkward), and I've been doing a whopping 35 pounds on the tricep press this week. Wow.

To make myself feel better, midway through my circuit today, I got onto one of the leg machines and did ten reps at 160 pounds. Yeah. Feeling the burn. I would have kept it up - it was helping my ego immensely - but then I remembered that my run was still to come, and that trembling calves wouldn't last very long on the treadmill. Common sense triumphed in the end, and I reluctantly got off.