Happy New Year!

New Year's Eve was going to suck, but now Jen and I are driving down to Gulf Shores for the night.

I need a little sand and surf in December...

More to come.

Happy New Year, everyone!

TV commercials shouldn't make you feel icky, either

In a sort of follow-up to Ian's last post, I present "Fudgems."

For some fine commentary, see Slate's "Ad's We Hate" at http://www.slate.com/id/2156187/.

Little of this, little of that

Okay, I've been a bit lax in updating this blog over the break. So shoot me, I'm on vacation.

Not a lot has been happening lately - we're mostly in a holding position, awaiting the new year and the subsequent return to school. Two things of interest have happened in the last few days, however:

1) My sister, a compulsive reader of the oh-so-tacky society pages, discovered a little gem. A group of women with too much money got together for a little potluck dinner or some other such recreation. The writer described each guest's dish, concluding with that of the one unlucky soul who brought (I'm paraphrasing here) 'small hotdogs wrapped in pastry.' Pigs in a blanket, anyone?

2) We had a reunion last night of some people from my elementary/middle school last night. The good? Surin West has excellent Thai food. The bad? People were looking around at the newcomers, whispering things like, "Who is that, again?" A bit awkward at first, but the evening was fun, and drunk guys outside of Starbucks are always good for a laugh.

What day is it again?

I'm having a rather difficult time keeping track of the days, especially since the Advent calendar has been exhausted for the year. It's still Wednesday, as far as I can tell, but it feels like Saturday. We took the bulk of the decorations down this morning, excepting the three trees. Yeah, three. My dad, who coincidentally is allergic to pine, has a great time hauling logs twice a year. In the past, Alabama Power would take them from the grocery store's parking lot and stick them in a lake or something (little sketchy on the details), but no longer, so now everything's being dragged to the curb for collection/pulping by the garbage men. Sort of a depressing end to the holiday, but that's the way it goes, I guess.

My vacation is quickly winding down - I'll be back in Edinburgh in a little over a week - and already I have a list of things to do:

1) Join gym (thanks, Santa).
2) Get ******* Accomodations to take my money.
3) Find a part-time job.
4) Start thinking about a real job (Monster.com turned up a post at Trailer Life Magazine...please, God, no...).
5) Pay Ian for the Spain flight (I haven't forgotten, man).
6) Start writing again, as I've produced a grand total of roughly 2,000 words since I got home.
7) Get published. I'm being really optimistic on this one.

The day after

December 26 always begins with a sense of disappointment. The Main Event is over. No one sings songs about the day after Christmas; no one (in this country, at least) exchanges gifts today, except those people who just couldn't get around to it before yesterday. The Christmas specials are through, though it comes as a relief that most radio stations in town are no longer playing wall-to-wall Christmas music and that TBS's annual "24 Hours of A Christmas Story" has come to an end. One by one, the neighbors will begin to take down their decorations, though the big rush will wait until after the first of the year. Leftovers will be served tonight. (Since dinner was beef tenderloin, however, I'm not upset by this.)

The nice thing is that everything is on sale, so we're going to do some exchanging today and see what we can find. Jen may have a clothing trip to Atlanta in the near future. Meanwhile, I'm going to see my dentist today. Joy to the world, eh?

Christmas Eve

And so we come, once again, to December 24, the culmination of months of shopping, menu planning, and keeping my sister away from her presents. The last bit is the most difficult, honestly. She's like a little kid this time of year.

We have church in an hour, church tonight, and dinner with old friends afterwards, and then tomorrow is the Big Day, so there will almost definitely be a lag in my posting. Merry Christmas, everyone!

Christmas bribes

When I was in the first grade, Anna Sibley came to class and told us all about her magic elf, this mystical being that left candy in her shoes in the nights leading up to Christmas. This seemed like a pretty good idea to me, so Jen and I dutifully left shoes by the front door before retiring that night. All that came of that particular experiment was being summoned from bed to explain to Dad why our shoes were in the middle of the foyer, but once we filled Mom in, things changed. Having selected elves, Jen and I were then treated to two weeks of gifts, left each morning outside our bedrooms. Not a bad deal at all.

As we got a little older, the elves came less frequently, eventually stopping by only during the final three days before Christmas. The presents improved, however, and once Jen and I left grade school, it wasn't such a big deal if we didn't get two weeks' worth of small toys and candy (and FAO Schwarz sweatshirts one year, for whatever reason). Dad still decried the entire practice as pagan and tried to phase it out, but the elves were resilient.

They're still coming, actually. I got lovely earrings this morning, and my elf is due again tonight. Of course, we're now to the point where often Mom beats us to bed, and sometimes the presents magically materialize before morning. I've been meaning to have a word with my elf about that...

Christmas Lights

Click to Play

I have no idea why Blip chose this screen for the thumbnail, but here's a little movie I made about some of the more interesting Christmas decorations in my neighborhood. The quality is bad - but try taking video with a tiny camera out a moving car's window at night in the rain, then compress a 9-minute clip to 7 MB, and you do better, eh?

Someday, I will actually film something well. Tonight wasn't it.

See this group

To the chagrin of my mother and sister, I truly hate most pop Christmas music. The stuff on the radio is bland, trite, old, and overplayed - when you only have about 100 Christmas songs in rotation and you're wall-to-wall Christmas from Thanksgiving onward, you tend to repeat just a little. By this time every year, I'm ready for anything else. Justin Timberlake begins to have a slight appeal, and that's just sad.

That said, we went to the most amazing concert last night. For those who haven't experienced Trans-Siberian Orchestra live, imagine this: mix Christmas standards with a narrator who really wants to be Morgan Freeman, a director who looks - I'm quoting this - "like Alice Cooper mixed with a Super Mario Brother," a bunch of electric guitars, keyboards, and an electric violin, a few string players from the Alabama Symphony Orchestra, some pretty excellent singers, lasers, and freaking hot flares (really, it was like standing in front of the fireplace), and you have TSO's Christmas show. The manager used to manage Scorpions and Aerosmith. Now he does Christmas rock operas.

I can live with Christmas rock operas.

The best part came after the Christmas portion of the show, when they broke into some of their other numbers. We got "Layla." We got "Flight of the Bumblebee." We then got the sexy rock opera version of the Queen of the Night solo from The Magic Flute. My favorite moment had to be "O Fortuna" - the audience wasn't initially sold on the idea of a song in Latin, but heck, this is Birmingham. I was ready to head bang with the band. I didn't realize one could head bang to Classical music, but I'm convinced.

If TSO were taught, we wouldn't have this mass aversion to Classical music. Seriously. See this band.

New Year's

I was just checking MSN this morning, and they offered a list of the top ten places to do New Year's partying. New York was on it (duh), as were Aspen, Goa (?!?), Sydney, and - yes - Edinburgh. Hope y'all have fun with your (paraphrasing here) four days of hedonism, dog races, and first-footing...the respite from the 40-mph winds has been nice. Really, I can wear my hair down and still look halfway human when I get wherever it is I'm going. The car also helps.

Back on topic, no concrete plans here yet for the 31st. The problem is that Birmingham just isn't a party capital of anywhere, not even Alabama. Mobile probably wins that one for Mardi Gras, if nothing else. The clubs are sketchy, South Side is very sketchy at night, and personally, I refuse to go anywhere Nick Nice, the Q's infuriating nighttime DJ, is going to be. (You can keep your shorties, Nick. Any woman who calls in to your program and doesn't tell you what an arrogant pig you are has zero self-respect.) It's not even feeling like December around here - I had lunch at California Pizza Kitchen yesterday, sat on the patio, and wondered why nothing was blooming except the confused Japanese cherry trees. Add to that the fact that many of my friends around here are going to be absent for the holiday, and it's looking like New Year's may end up being a quiet affair.

At least last year was fun. The Glee Club knew how to party, even if it was with a ridiculous assortment of André "champagnes" in a single hotel room.

Christmas partying

Proof that alcohol is not essential to a good night...

My church's college group Christmas get-together was tonight, a lovely dinner at the even lovelier Anna Bloom's house, and a good time was seemingly had by all with not a drop of the sauce in sight. Seriously, there was Milo's Tea, fruit punch, and water, but here's a sampling of the topics covered:

Cartoons and other television programs our parents didn't let us watch
Childbirth, naturally, on the dining room table, and with or without appetizers (in mixed company, no less)
The nature of the cruditée
What constitutes a quiver
Alabama football
Auburn football
Why Bear Bryant is overrated
Greek life and the almost universally sketchy Betas
Babysitting
The ethics of getting onto Facebook post-college
Crunchy-looking leaves and children
Summer camps and bathing
Emo
"Got Joy" and other campaigns we'd rather not think about
...plus a smattering of embarrassing childhood memories best never repeated in cyberspace. Oh, Barbie...the horror.

Sleeeeeep

This is getting ridiculous.

I woke this morning at two, feeling quite perky and ready to go. Knowing that would never do, I rolled over and tried to regain unconsciousness, telling myself I'd turn on the lights and lull myself back to sleep with sudoku if I couldn't make it by three.

I sort of made it by three, however, and was off and on until seven-thirty. The nap this afternoon was in order.

Tonight, The Pursuit of Happyness. Let's see if Will Smith can do better than the dancing penguins...

Saturday

This hasn't been the most productive 48-hour period of my life. I got my portfolio up to date (I had no idea my Texas retreats piece would be the December cover of ET!), did a little girlie shopping, and basically lounged around.

The one truly annoying thing about this vacation is that I seem to be unable to sleep through the night. For no good reason, I'll wake up three or four times between midnight and seven, usually just for a moment, but it disrupts my sleep. It also gives me odd insight into my dreams...

Oh dear...

The worst night thus far has to be the one in which I woke up hourly between midnight and six. It's now 10:30, so I'll try to stay up a bit longer, think happy thoughts, and try to get a solid night's sleep. Tomorrow night is the Christmas program at church, and I want to be prepped for that.

I should look over the music...

More good and bad

The bad: Edinburgh still cannot figure out my accommodation payment status, and now I have to call them long distance tomorrow morning between 8 and 10:30.
The good: Maybe I'll finally get to bitch them out for being incompetent and wasting my phone money.

The bad: Callie figured out how to get into my shoebox and chewed up a pair of Kate Spades.
The good: I got new tennis shoes! Without the stuffing leaking out the back! On sale, no less!

The bad: Happy Feet has a lot of unnecessary social commentary.
The good: Hey, dancing penguins are dancing penguins.

The bad: Birmingham cannot make up its mind what month this is supposed to be.
The good: It was 75 degrees today. (That's about 24 C, Ian.)

Extra bonus good: I got another letter from the convent today! Always a good thing.

Monkeys with typewriters

I'm a humanities person; I'm certainly no IT genius. Somehow, however, I've managed to become my family's tech support, and usually, with enough web searching and forehead smacking, I can muddle my way through our various spyware problems.

Not today.

Around 7:30 last night, a rather annoying browser hijacker made its way onto the computer. Google sent me to random ad pages. AOL Mail ceased to function. Even Facebook refused to let me on. My entire arsenal failed: SpySweeper, Spybot S&D, AdAware, Bazooka, and HijackThis could find nothing wrong. In desperation, at about 8 AM I actually ran Windows Update, which hadn't been done in God knows how long.

61 updates, including Service Pack 2. It took about two hours to get the system back up and running.

Then I added Windows Defender, Microsoft's new anti-spyware freeware, but it also came up clean. Even Norton found nothing (granted, Norton's definitions date to approximately 2004, but it was worth a shot).

I hate admitting IT defeat, but around 2 PM I told my mother that I was hopelessly stumped, and suggeted calling Geek Squad. A quick check of their site revealed the bad news: $250 for a house call.

Well, I had nothing better to do than throw the ball for Callie, so I kept searching for something odd. After removing about 200 porn/casino/loan links from the registry (how did those get there?), I stumbled onto SpywareDetector, which isn't freeware but gives a detailed log of malware even without registration. The thing found 13 worms in less than two minutes, the worst of which I was able to remove manually by following the registry addresses and the directions into the system files.

At 5 PM, the system was functional once again, further proof that enough monkeys with enough typewriters will eventually come up with Shakespeare.

I did a geeky little happy dance.

Someone tranquilize my puppy, please

Shortly after coming home, I was informed that Border Collies consider naps to be a waste of time. I didn't realize how true that was until today.

I had a headache, and so I had stretched out on the couch until the medicine could take effect. This was completely unacceptable to Callie, who brought me balls and jumped on the couch until I threw them for her and played tug of war. I tried relaxing with one arm off the couch, but that didn't work. When the dog's attention was diverted, I rolled over to face the back of the couch, hoping she would get the message. No such luck: obviously miffed, Callie proceeded to attack my head until I threw the ball once more.

Maybe this is a phase...

Fun on the road

Our friend, Sarah, and her two roommates hosted a lovely cocktail party in Nashville on Friday night, so Jen and I drove up to camp at their place. This was the first time I'd really been driving in three months, but I wasn't too worried - the car had just been checked out, the bulging tire had been replaced, and I knew which side of the road to stay on. Plus, Jen had promised not to play Christmas music the whole way up.

Three hours later, we arrived in Nashville with no problems. We spent the night and prepared to leave around 9:30, which was when the fun started.

I had just pulled out of Sarah's driveway when a dashboard indicator light came on. This was not what I needed before caffeine, and certainly not what I needed before a three-hour drive. Jen took the manual, but all she could find was that it was an indication that the anti-lock brakes were out. Thinking unkind things about the car and recalling the Pimpmobile's breakdown in Foley, I grabbed the book and quickly figured out that I had manually disengaged the system by pushing the button (what the heck?) while I was turning my seatwarmer on. Model of German engineering, right there.

Happily caffeinated, we set off into Nashville's light Saturday morning Interstate traffic. I-65 was the clearest I had ever seen it, until a state trooper pulled up in the HOV lane and everyone dropped closer to 70 to match his pace. Suddenly, his lights went on and he pulled over. I darted one lane to the right, just in time to see the two cars previously in front of me collide with a wheelbarrow (again, what the heck?) and each other.

Having narrowly escaped the wheelbarrow in the middle of I-65, we were then visited by occasional NASCAR wannabes - people who do at least 90, pass on the right, and give no signals.

I was happy to see my own driveway once again.

100th post

I just noticed that this is my hundredth post. Fancy that.

It's been quite a day around here, from picking my sister up at the airport to keeping the puppy, Captain Insano, occupied and out from under my bed. In less than 48 hours, Callie has ripped a hole in her mooing cow's back and has now taken to dragging her fleece pillow around the kitchen. She also wants to chew my stuffed lemur and my sister's yodeling bear. It's actually quite difficult to coax her out from under my sister's bed - the place looks like a tornadic debris field, and somehow Callie has made herself a nest among the photo albums and other detritus. Cow comes in handy in these sorts of situations...

I also had TCBY with Jen today, for the first time in three months. Frozen yogurt! Amazing! Why has this not crossed the pond yet?!?

Tomorrow will involve a three-hour drive and a cocktail party in Nashville...more to come.

My dog is insane

Callie, our almost-four-month-old Border Collie, is adorable, alert, playful, intelligent...and completely insane.

Her favorite method of greeting is the Leg Jump, in which she aims for the waist and attempts to scale one's pants. Sometimes she gets traction, sometimes not. Sometimes she bites one's cuffs or shoes for kicks. If successful in her ascent, she will then lick/chew any exposed skin within reach.

After the formalities, Playtime commences. Playtime is actually a constant state of affairs - as the Border Collie book says, this breed considers naps a complete waste of time. If adult Border Collies have the intelligence of a five-year-old, Callie's somewhere around two - if she's not being amused, she will make her presence known, either by bringing over one of her approximately two dozen squeaky toys or starting back with the Leg Jump.

She has a proclivity for jumping, actually, whether on people or on the couch (or on people on the couch, she's not picky). She will also climb people and begin a furious bout of licking/chewing. Sometimes she drags a squeaky toy or two into the fray. I discovered a piece of rawhide left in my lap at the computer this afternoon.

Today, we acquired our new Mooing Cow, the current hit. The cow comes with a lovely, not-so-realistic voicebox which Callie has almost learned to operate. When she can't make it talk, she just shakes the bejeezus out of it.

Callie's wearing herself out now, since we have to begin the Bedtime Ritual in five minutes. She gets Christmas music at night. Slightly spoiled? Maybe, but she's cute.

When she's not climbing my head, that is.

"Welcome home"

This morning began at 4:45 GMT. As I write this, it's approaching 8:45 CST, or approximately twenty-two hours later. I'm still going somehow. A taxi, a bus, two planes, a three-hour car trip, Chinese food, a crazy puppy, and one most welcome shower later, I'm still hanging on to consciousness.

This will be remedied within the hour.

Coming home was a little on the insane side today. I'm not in the most coherent state of mind at the moment, so here are a few highlights:

-Edinburgh is ridiculously quiet at 5:45 AM. Seriously, everyone finally leaves Princes Street and the stores close. The Ferris Wheel looks rather eerie, actually.

-A full moon over Waverly Bridge is a lovely sight.

-The same security guard questioned me twice today, once as I was checking in ("Has your computer been out of your hands since you've been here?") and once at the gate ("Since I last saw you, have you purchased anything?") He seemed to feel bad when I had to move my makeup kit to the checked piece.

-There was a handful of 50-something Scottish men out for a "boys week" in Philadelphia on the flight, as well as a 7-year-old kid from New York. "Where are you from?" the kid asked. "We're from Scotland," one of the men replied, "the greatest country on Earth!" The kid then followed this with, "Oh. Why do you talk so funny?"

-There's no sight quite as fascinating as the northeastern coast of Canada in December after having flown over open ocean for hours. It looked like the tundra down there, all white ridges and frozen lakes. I would upload images, but I'm currently too tired to fish out my camera.

-Continental had the best airplane food I've ever tasted, hands down. Now, if they'd only get Coke Zero...

-I'm not usually a fan of New York, but I got all excited when I saw the Statue of Liberty from the plane.

-Newark is...well, Newark, but there was nothing quite as sweet as the Customs agent of Italian descent and City origins welcoming me home. He did make a crack about my name ("Ashley Simpson, huh?), but I'll forgive him this once.

-Newark, I'm not going to pay $7 for a lousy sandwich. No. Bad, New Jersey. Bad.

-It seems that the people operating the Atlanta tram have tampered with the recording. Guys, I can read, but I want the voice to tell me the next stop. Come on. Concourse T, anyone?

-My puppy, Cali (or Ugly, to my father), is adorable but completely spastic. She has a bedtime ritual. This seems to be a subtle hint from my parents that I need to hurry up and give them grandchildren already.

-I have a television. In my room. It gets more than four channels, and there's no £137.50 license. There is House. Then again, there's no Jeremy Kyle.

That wasn't so bad

This was my view this morning at 8 AM. Yes, 8 AM. The sun was trying desperately to make it over the horizon, and I was attempting to drag myself from bed. I had nothing but a string of dreams all night long. This is why I shouldn't drink.

Realizing that my packing time was down to less than twenty-four hours, however, I pushed aside the alarm clock and made myself begin to compile roughly 100 pounds of luggage (God, I hope it's under 100 pounds this time...I don't have a scale, and it's still too early to bother people about locating one).

It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. Less than an hour later, I've put together two suitcases and most of my carry-on (the computer's not going in until the last possible moment, like maybe tomorrow at 5 AM). I remembered appropriate dress footwear, a step up from some of my earlier Christmas break attempts.

I've also packed the various foodstuffs requested by my parents yesterday afternoon. The conversation went roughly as follows:

Me: It's kind of rainy and windy out there, so I've been napping all afternoon.
Mom: Are you bringing home any tablet?
Me: Um...wasn't planning to. I can go get some... uh, today.
Mom: No rush, whenever you have time.
Me: I'm coming home in less than 48 hours. I should get it today. And whisky fudge...

Edinburgh was behaving itself when I left my room, but the rain had recommenced once I hit the lobby (what else is new?) and continued for the next hour. Adding insult to injury, the wind was far too strong to permit an umbrella (again, nothing new there). I did manage to find the food and a squeaky furry haggis for my puppy, which I'm assuming she'll kill within minutes. So yes, there is now tablet in my suitcase, which will hopefully still be in tablet form by the time it reaches Atlanta. If not, it's good in pieces.

I love you, Mom. :)

Christmas carols, week two

This morning's service went well - our duet was a success - though I was once again reminded of the variations between American and Scottish Christmas carols when one of the altos told me she would be singing "We Will Rock You" in two weeks.

"Queen?" I asked, more than slightly disturbed.

She then laughed and sang a few bars, but as she did so, I couldn't help but stomp along.
Stomp-stomp-clap, stomp-stomp-clap...

Good news and bad news

The bad news: the MacDonald brothers were voted off of X-Factor.
The good news: Ben is still on.

The bad news: the office's copy of Love Actually was checked out.
The worse news: so was Blockbuster's copy.
The good news: Saved! was in stock.

The bad news: my US Blockbuster card doesn't work over here.
The good news: they were willing to give Cali a new card.

The bad news: we needed a cake for post-football sorrow drowning, but all we had was Tesco.
The good news: Tesco sells chocolate Yule Logs.

The bad news: Stanford lost their football game.
The good news: if Ian ever wants to be a rapper, he's got a name all picked out.

I may just be employable

I've received some strange calls from my sister the psychology/French major at Northwestern since she started her college career. ("Lauren, where's the Rite-Aid?" "Jen, I'm in Connecticut, how am I supposed to know?" is one of my favorites.)

Tonight's was great. Jen, who is multi-talented, is a writing tutor, and one of her tutorees has a creative writing assignment. It's 10 PM here on a Friday night and my phone starts ringing. Jen's student wants to know how to format dialogue - when to indent? Do we need dashes? What if the character speaks two lines?

Apparently, I'm a good font of dialogue formatting information, though I would recommend that the girl pick up any paperback novel - not an avant-garde work, just something Rite-Aid would sell - and look at the layout for hints. Just don't ask Jen for directions to Rite-Aid to get it.

(Ducks as something large and heavy is thrown my way from Evanston.)

Not an exciting night

So I had planned to brave the gale and head up to the street ceilidh last night, but that was before a cloud of dust rose on George Square in the wind tunnel and attacked my eye. I may have scratched my cornea, I don't know, but I winced and wept and added more eye drops than I did even post-surgery for two hours during seminar, then headed home for a hot cloth. That did nothing, so in desperation I ran to the drug store/post office thirty minutes before they closed for a tube of gel. By the time my mother called, forty-five minutes later, I had tons of gel in my eye and a couple of Anadins in my system, and was feeling surprisingly better. Thanks, Mom.

Regardless, I didn't quite feel up to another wind assault, so I stayed in and finished reading my rummage sale bad horror novel. After the heroes get strangled for the umpteenth time, justice prevails. Never saw that one coming... I also printed off my portfolio and essay to hand in today, which took a while - I bothered looking on the LLC website for guidelines and ran across their style sheet. Granted, Claire said we could just be consistent, but I went ahead and modified my essay to MLA and double-spaced it. Stupid A4 margins...stupid single-side only... There comes a point where you care less about the dying trees than about your wallet, and twenty-eight pages is a lot for a single essay. Then came the portfolio - also double-spaced, but double-sided. It's forty-three pages long. I'm not printing eighty-six pages off if I don't have to.

I miss the Master's Office printer. Things were simpler then, and I didn't have to buy my own toner.

The real Windy City

Today is St. Andrew's Day, which inspires much patriotism, Saltire-waving, and a giant ceilidh on the Royal Mile tonight. If the rain holds off, I'm going. Street party in November in Scotland? Awesome.

Funny thing about this morning: when I woke to the pre-dawn of eight AM, I heard a strange rustling against the window. "Rain?" I thought, but no - just clouds and a ridiculous breeze.

I saw that admission to the castle was supposedly free today, so, deciding that it was high time I visited, I packed my camera after breakfast and made my way up the hill. The castle staff, however, put an abrupt stop to my tourist plans. Apparently, the castle's not safe for visitors during periods of high winds.

High winds? Sheesh, this is nothing. So my hair's a mess and I was having to lean into the wind on Nicholson Street. It's not raining, is it? This is great weather. I have no idea what y'all are talking about.

Although, if this wind keeps up, what's that going to do to the kilted masses tonight?

Oh dear.

Best name ever

Let's hear it for the British upper crust, source of endless debate, scandal, and a selection of fancy hats!

There are some real winners among the names and titles, but one stands head and shoulders above the rest. I didn't know this guy existed until the news tonight, but let me present the best name ever: Lord Adonis.

If I were a peer, I would want to be this guy.

As it turns out (thanks, Wikipedia), he's an English-Cypriot Baron who was born Andreas Adonis. While this is certainly a fine name on its own, stick the honorific in front and you've got what is possibly the greatest title ever.

So he's not particularly liked by some politicians. They're probably just jealous of the name. I mean, come on, Adonis? Says it all, man. Says it all.

One week

It hit me today while I was sitting in the hallway before class, reading a horribly bad novel I bought at a rummage sale, that I'm going home one week from today. Less than that, actually - my flight leaves Edinburgh at 9 AM, so I'll be in New Jersey by now this time next week.

Where did the semester go?

I'm sitting here with my (mercifully cooperative) laptop, my spiffy A4-stocked printer, my squeaky haggis, my Famous Grouse tin-turned-penny-holder, a cup of herbal tea, and half a bowl of All Bran Crunchy Oatbakes (bad name, but whatever). I got to browse the German Market again today, and even saw a few brave souls out on the ice rink in the garden. The weather cooperated for most of the day. We haven't had a fire drill in weeks. The Jeremy Kyle Show is still entertaining. The turkey I grilled for dinner tonight on the stove's grill rack actually tasted like real meat.

I have come to terms with the fact that I will not finish my current project before going home, but otherwise I seem to have survived the first semester. All is right with the world.

A little taste of college

There comes a point when you look in the cabinet and see mostly seasonings, teabags, and a single can of beans, and then, no matter the weather, you suck it up and go to Tesco.

I'm in the middle of an errand-y sort of morning - gym, laundry, and groceries - and I just returned from Tesco with my large recyclable tote, £16 lighter. There is fruit in my refrigerator once again. This is a good thing.

While replenishing my oatmeal, I stumbled upon a new cereal tucked in with Tesco's minimal offerings. The name was different, but the picture on the front could only mean one thing: Cracklin' Oat Bran has made it across the pond.

Ah, Cracklin' Oat Bran. It brings back such fond memories of the Davenport Dining Hall: lunch, dinner, snacktime, dessert, topping my fro-yo, dipped in chocolate on Valentine's Day... Yeah, okay, I've missed the cereal just a little bit. It's not quite as sweet here, which is probably a good thing, but it's still the all-purpose oatmeal substitute.

Speaking of D'port, if anyone out there has the recipe for curried sweet potato and lentil soup, let me know...

Christmas carols

After the service this morning, Roy the organist handed out the song line-up for the next month. Knowing that Emily, the other American postgrad alto, and I have had a bit of trouble with some of the hymns thus far - either we've never seen or heard them before at all, we know the tune but the text is different, or the text is on one page and the tune on another - he smiled and said, "Christmas carols are Christmas carols. They can't be that unfamiliar, right?"

Well, Emily and I looked at next week's selections. Except for "O Come, O Come Emanuel," we knew nothing. Nada.

Figuring that next Sunday morning was not the best time to rectify this, we borrowed the sanctuary piano and did a little one-finger part tapping. My piano skills are subpar, but they worked well enough for the Inept American Alto Section.

At least we can usually fake it. Roy offered to take up a collection to fly us back over for the rest of the month.

More oboe!

I'm a choir person, so I'm naturally biased toward singing groups when listening to an orchestral setting. Then again, I've often been part of the singing group behind the orchestra, so the bias is a bit more understandable.

That said, tonight's Magnificat and other works concert was stolen by one person: Ruth and Her Amazing Oboe. We wanted to make posters. We wanted to do the wave. We wanted to yell "More oboe!" but we figured Ruth would get upset if we yelled during her oboe solo.

There were a few other highlights as well. In no particular order:
Michael's Abercrombie shirt and kilt, complete with knife in the sock
Michael's trenchcoat that hid all but the socks, making him look like a streaker (or Eytan in A Child's Christmas in Wales)
The American-themed bar on Lothian Road
Nachos at Favorit
Ian's Guydar
Ian's budding relationship with Charlotte the Macbook
Once again making an inappropriate comment that was meant entirely innocently
Having my zoo movie analyzed
Escaping Edinburgh's wind/rain/cold and the choir

Sketchiness

Even after Frankenturkey and wine, I managed to survive seminar yesterday (though I was probably in the best mood I've ever been in during that class...hmm...). Then it was an hour and a half home to change and conference call with the family ("Guess what I'm drinking?"), and then out again into Edinburgh, Wind Tunnel of The North, for our class reading.

The Pleasance Cabaret Theatre is only two blocks away, but Edinburgh killed another umbrella en route. I must replace it today, while the sun is still shining...just six and a half hours to go...

The reading went well - much alcohol was consumed by people other than Cali, whose glass kept being mysteriously refilled during lunch, and me - and afterwards, around eleven, a small group of us followed Erica out into the mercifully rain-free night for karaoke at her bar, Belushi's.

I'd never been to Belushi's, but it's an interesting place. It was hopping by the time we got there, packed partly by the people from the hostel upstairs and partly by some sketchy regulars. Erica knew everyone, so she disappeared off to the bar for a bit while we packed into a semicircular booth and began perusing the karaoke list.

Just as Cali, Kelli, and I were looking through the book, this random drunk guy came up and started making conversation. He was not alone. Let me go ahead and clarify: we never learned any actual names, so we're going to call this inebriated trio Talkative Irish Guy, Dancing (Australian?) Guy, and Wasted Asian Guy. As Cali and Kelli noted, it seemed that the three of us must have had a flashing "SINGLE!" light about our persons or something, because these three just couldn't take a hint.

Talkative Guy tried to force us to pick songs, then scooted his way into the booth with us. He kept coming back throughout the night. Wasted Guy occupied his position the rest of the time, drinking morosely and making comments like, "Do you think he [Talkative Guy] is attractive?" Dancing Guy first grabbed Cali and tried to carry her away, then took my hands and made me dance with him, which mostly consisted of twirls and dips. I gave the usual smile and "Thank you" to bow out gracefully, but he just wouldn't let up. All night long.

Fortunately, there was usually a hiding place back in the booth - Billy and Russ, our token males, were willing to scoot around - or with Erica, who introduced me to the staff between karaoke numbers. One guy who works there, Tony, had an absolutely fabulous solo, as did Lauren, who I think was just a regular. Then there was the guy who tried a drunk rendition of "Rawhide." Dear God, no.

Two guys, Billy and this random drunk local, offered to buy us drinks, but Cali felt that her liver just couldn't take it, I had reached my quota at lunch, and anyway, we still had a twenty-minute walk back. I was in the queue for karaoke, but when 12:30 rolled around (the bar supposedly closed at 1), Cali and I decided to scrap it and head home. The trio just wouldn't let up. "You're not allowed to harass the customers," Erica warned Talkative Guy, who just couldn't keep his hands off Kelli's knee. "No - let me see your hands. Up on the table. Keep them there." He insisted that he had to practice the piano or something, which necessarily involved Kelli.

Still, my favorite line of the night came from Talkative Guy, who was trying to help me pick a song. While he paged through the list, he came across "Like A Virgin." "How about...no," he said, looking at me, "no one would ever believe that." Smooth, buddy, really smooth. You know the way to a woman's heart.

Fun place, we decided, but if we ever want to do karaoke there, we should get in by eight or nine and immediately put our names down. And bring boyfriends along.

Behold, classmates, my work of art

Mrs. Camp, my sixth-grade English teacher, had an odd sense of humor. Whenever one of us balked and tried to stammer out an explanation before reading our pieces, she would make us stand, face the class, and loudly proclaim, "Behold, classmates, my work of art!"

With that in mind, let's just cut to the chase. Behold, world, my dressing.

My hands still smell slightly of onions and garlic.

My knife "technique" concerns Corner, but to be fair, our knives are dull and that sausage was tough.

I have gained an appreciation for the Cuisinart.

I have also learned just how much "six cups" actually is...6 c rice + 3 c stock + 4 c vegetables and sausage = Lauren needs an actual Dutch oven. No worries, I split the rice and just divvied everything else. The second pot contains more of the same.

The dressing was an adventure in so many ways. I began to realize just how much our dorm kitchen lacks in the way of standard amenities - you know, like multiple measuring cups, measuring spoons, and a Dutch oven. Oh well. This is trial by fire time, and I've produced something vaguely chicken flavored.

Midway through my preparations, Corner told me that he thinks I'm probably a good cook. Why, I asked. Apparently, since everyone else on the floor is a good cook, I'm obliged to be at least halfway decent. Maybe.

It's Thanksgiving. With my mad knife skills, I'm thankful that I didn't cut a finger off, and that Leigh and Cali are making the turkey and pies.

The things we do for national holidays

Tomorrow was shaping up to be a meatless Thanksgiving. Having been forced to turn down Harry's dinner invitation because of our class reading tomorrow night, I was planning to attend Danielle's Creative Writing Pre-Reading Thanksgiving Dinner. Danielle being a vegetarian and the rest of us being lazy/inept, there will be no turkey at Danielle's flat, but there may be macaroni and cheese.

I had resigned myself to a turkeyless day when I received an e-mail from Leigh this morning. She and Cali are planning a Thanksgiving luncheon tomorrow. They're making the turkey and two pies (I knew those cans of pumpkin in the store display would go to good use!), and everyone else is to bring a dish.

Well, I figured I could do dressing.

There are two ways to go about dressing: buy the Paxo box and add water, or suck it up and actually attempt something homemade. Fine, I thought, enough instant couscous and microwaved peas, this is a national holiday, damn it. It deserves something better than my ill-fated Canadian Thanskgiving rolls.

Taking Rosanna the Cooking Light Intern's advice, I hopped onto their website and started looking for recipes. The first that sounded good was a dirty rice stuffing. I like dirty rice. I like stuffing. What the hell.

Then I started reading the recipe...Andouille sausage (This is the country that lives on black pudding, surely they have something), chicken livers (Um...no), 6 cups long-grain rice (Easy enough), 3 cups chicken broth (My favorite form of hot sodium), olive oil (Got it already), celery, onions, garlic (Just this once), green bell pepper (Substituting red - it's my dressing!), Cajun seasoning (Wait a minute...)

Undaunted, I headed off to Tesco for a little pre-breakfast grocery shopping, where I (inevitably) encountered a few difficulties:

1) This is the UK, Land of Grams. Do we know how many grams of rice go into a cup? We bought a kilo and we're guessing.

2) Why does chicken broth not exist at my Tesco?!? I'm resorting to bullion cubes.

3) Speaking of things that don't exist at Tesco..."Cajun seasoning." Yeah. Not going to happen. We're using the all-purpose savory seasoning mix already in my cupboard and pretending.

4) And as far as sausage goes, we have acquired half a kilo of Tesco's half-fat pork sausages and we're going to pretend. There is no Jimmy Dean over here. There is no Andouille sausage, either. If Mary ever reads this, she will probably pass out at my poor attempt to replicate her regional cuisine in Scotland.

Armed with £7 of assorted vaguely appropriate items, a new box of oatmeal, and toilet tissue, I headed back to the dorm to fit it all into the fridge. Since Amber left this morning for a two-month sojurn in Antarctica (yeah...we're just going to Firbush in Creative Writing), there was actually adequate fridge space. This gave me a moment to contemplate my package of sausages. What does one do with eight pork sausages, anyway? Fortunately, my cleaning lady walked in.

"Stupid question," I began, "but how does one cook sausages? I've never really cooked before."
She gave me a horribly pained look. "You've no' cooked before?"
"Not really. Not sausages. See, it's Thanksgiving tomorrow, and I'm trying to make this dressing...and Tesco has nothing Cajun..."
She patted my arm and explained that ten to fifteen minutes on the grill will do them nicely.

Great. All I have to do tomorrow is figure out which pot can work as a Dutch oven, get out my oatmeal freebie measuring cups (each of which holds about 2/3 cup water) and do a lot of guessing, finely chop many smelly vegetables using my mad knife skills, and grill sausages. I can do this.

My mother's comment: "I can hardly wait to hear how this turns out. You made me laugh out loud at 3:45am!"

Mom, you're not helping my self confidence, here.

The joys of metric

Having wussed out to November in Edinburgh, I sucked it up, coughed up £2.50 for a one-time pass at the gym, and got back on a treadmill. I must say, it was nice to run glove- and fleeceless for a change, but I had a bit of a nasty shock when I started programming the machine.

I know Precor machines - they're what we primarily had at Yale, and they're pretty intuitive. I had run on treadmills identical to the one I chose this morning, and I knew what speed settings I can do. When I started running the numbers today, however, the first thing it asked for was weight. 68kg? Higher? Lower?

This was not boding well. I just accepted it and moved on to the speed component, but found that my usual rate - somewhere in the 6.7 neighborhood - wasn't cutting it. Crap, I thought, jogging in place and glaring at the console, I don't do metric before breakfast. It's just not right.

There was one plus to the funky metric-calibrated machine, which was that I seemed much more hard-core than I am. After half an hour, I had run almost five kilometers at 9.2 km/h, which sounds much better than 3.1 miles at 6 mph.

I knew that didn't feel like 9.2.

Is is spring yet?

Our substitute lit teacher, Laurence, seemed almost gleeful when we began complaining about the horrible weather today. He told us to get used to it. Gee, thanks, man. Way to be reassuring.

If complaining about homework is the great American collegiate pastime, complaining about the weather is the Scottish version. They have every right - I was watching the noon news today, and the forecast for the western side of Scotland was something like 6 C (roughly 44 F) with a 45-mph wind. Ours wasn't that bad - the wind was perhaps 25 mph or so - but then the rain moved in...

"Hey," Laurence told us, "we don't get hurricanes."

Ella had the best comeback of the day: "And now I know why the British say 'bloody' so much." Yes, the weather is indeed bloody awful.

Another lazy Sunday

Today was vastly non-productive, but what the heck - it's the weekend, after all.

There was much church-going (morning and evening), and around that, I attempted to get in some exercise. I woke to sun this morning, so I suited up and put on gloves, then headed for the park. Lo and behold, the sidewalk was icy. Foreseeing something horrible happening on the long, shaded downhill, I decided to jog back and try again later. After lunch, I took a long walk around the park, ending just after sunset - you know, around ten after four.

This was followed by a quick trip to Shaw's, teriyaki turkey, and the consideration of purchasing a turkey for the week. Perhaps Wednesday, when I have no class - but this then raises the question of where to store the cooked turkey. Hmm... In any case, Thanksgiving is going to be a meatless affair this year. Mom, I miss your food.

Back to work tomorrow - I have an essay to edit in the next two weeks, and I want to get started on a fresh writing project...what else am I going to do with myself otherwise?

***Correction from Saturday: Princeton may have won one more game than we did, but it was non-Ivy, so it doesn't count. Hooray for co-champion status!

Ice skating in Hell

Oh. My. God.

Yale just beat Harvard, 34-13.

I never thought this day would come. '05 never saw a win. Neither did we. '07, you have redeemed yourselves. Well done, gentlemen. Well done.

Honestly, I don't care that Princeton is now the Ivy champion. We're number two. Harvard's not. By the way, Harvard, when your live update stops at 5:09 to go in the fourth quarter, that's not cool.

I like to think that my D'port sweatshirt had something to do with the win today, but somehow, I doubt it. Oh well. I should get back to my Postmodernism paper now, but I can't seem to get "Boola Boola" out of my head...

For once, that's a very good thing.

It's Game Day...

...and I'm closer to Cambridge, UK than Cambridge, MA. This is unfortunate, because no matter how much NFL The Peartree shows, it sure as heck isn't going to be broadcasting The Game today.

Boo.

And so, armed with my D'port fleece, my D'port sweatshirt, my D'port scarf, and possibly my D'port hat if the weather takes a turn for the worse, I try to think happy thoughts about Yale's performance this afternoon. (Guys, if you don't beat Harvard, the ghosts of '05 and '06 will join with '07 in rising up and destroying you. But have a good time!)

Thanks to IvyGate, I just heard about the release of 108 Tongues's newest Game "anthem." For the uninformed, 108 Tongues is proof of why Yalies should never go on to become rappers. We just don't have the street cred, you know? Anyway, for a good laugh, or to hear the latest attempt to give the Yale-Harvard rivalry what IvyGate called a "Blood-Crips overlay," check these guys out: http://pantheon.yale.edu/%7Ejgc23/.

(Parental Advisory: don't click the link if you're easily offended. The rhymes are bad, but they're very trashy nonetheless.)

A Day at Edinburgh Zoo

Click to Play

Today, we celebrated Ian's belated 22nd birthday by going to Edinburgh Zoo. The temperature was low, the wind speed was high, and the chance of rain was 90%. The polar bear looked comfortable...

God says no to Zatarain's

I had such high hopes for dinner tonight.

Two weeks ago, my parents sent a care package containing many excellent things, including more muffin mix than I knew what to do with and a single box of Zatarain's Yellow Rice mix. This stuff is great - the perfect blend of creole seasonings and...erm...yellow rice. It's a staple at home, and since there's no way I'm making shrimp gumbo up here (the prawns are ridiculously small, for one), the rice was supposed to fix my creole seasoning deficit.

Not trusting the cleanliness of the communal pots (which are always greasy, for some reason), I decided to try the microwave directions and use my lovely Pyrex-ish dish. Twenty minutes later, the rice looked good, the slightest bit of water had come out of the top, and all it needed was five minutes to fluff. I could handle five minutes of fluff time. Using my dishtowel makeshift mitts - which have worked for the oven, mind you - I pulled the dish from the microwave and tried to move it around the door to the counter.

Unfortunately, the steam escaping from the dish caused my hand to jerk, which caused the dish to slip from my hands...which sent my lovely box of Zatarain's all over the kitchen. Floor, microwave, refrigerators, jeans...just about everything but my dry-clean-only shirt got an authentic taste of New Orelans.

I said some unladylike things at that moment. Fortunately, no one was around to hear me.

The dish landed intact and right-side-up, fortuitously enough, and so I was able to salvage a bit of the rice, though that hardly made up for the two meals I lost. The surviving rice had plenty of time to fluff on the counter as I swept wet rice off the floor, wiped down the appliances and the counter, and mopped the floor with my dishrag, as we are currently out of paper towels again. The little rice I was able to eat was good, but I had to supplement with a muffin. What the hell, for sweeping the kitchen floor, I deserved a muffin.

I miss shrimp gumbo.

So it rains in Edinburgh...

It rains quite frequently here, as we've discovered. I just had time for a run this morning before the all-day rain came, and only emerged once during the afternoon for a brief errand. Between the early darkness and the rain, the floor seemed to be going slightly stir-crazy this afternoon. The presence of the folks from Specific Heat who were removing half our ceiling tiles didn't help matters.

Other than that, it was an uneventful day. I edited. I started to work on the essay for my lit seminar. Apparently, there will be a screening of March of the Penguins tomorrow night and karaoke next week.

Grad school is thrilling, no?

Almost bedtime

It's almost midnight, and I'm beat. I've written too much today, somewhere in the neighborhood of 11,000 words, which has to be my personal record. Remembering to stop and eat dinner is always a plus, I've noticed, but even with food, my brain is fried.

Tomorrow, if I can drag people out, there will be karaoke. Huzzah for cheesy pop songs and pubs!

Other than that, I have no class tomorrow (it being Wednesday and all), so perhaps I'll settle in for a nice editing session. Perhaps not. Time will tell.

I need to stop typing now.

Weekend recovery

Today is a lovely day in Edinburgh - cold, yes, but nowhere nearly as unplesant as the weekend's temperatures! The morning's writing has been successful, I received the book I ordered off Amazon, I got another letter from the convent, and I'm finally doing laundry.

There are many things I never imagined myself saying before I came to Edinburgh:
"Let's get lunch at the mosque!"
"Half a pint of Strongbow, please."
"It's half seven, where the hell are you?"
"I've got to top up my mobile."

Probably the oddest among them is, "Hey! I got a letter from the convent! Sweet!" It's amazing what actual mail will do to lighten your spirits, especially when it's from nuns. This one wasn't from Mary, but Sr. Mary Karen said that they liked the candy I sent last time. Tablet is one of those things that crosses borders well. Haggis, not so much. Note to self...

Inverness weekend

There are many mysteries in life: What's the meaning of it all? Where did it all come from? Why do bad things happen to good people? Why would anyone go to Inverness in November?

Well, it's pretty when the rain stops...

Leigh, Cali, and I left on Friday morning at an unfortunate hour for the capital of the Highlands aboard a double-decker bus, having secured provisions for the journey and made an impromptu hashbrown stop. The sky was cloudy but was holding steady, and we had high hopes for the weather. Too high, apparently, as the rain intermittently fell during the three-and-a-half-hour journey north, but we were treated to pretty Highland scenery, Highland coos, and more of the omnipresent sheep. We unloaded in Inverness to a windy, cold, moist afternoon, and, having taken control of the map, Leigh conducted us to the Ivor Villa, our B&B.


I had never stayed in a B&B, so I had little idea of what to expect. We were only having the bed portion (breakfast was an additional charge), but we found a nice triple room (with so-so heating), a bathroom with the "gravity shower," two cats, and a very welcome tea and coffee tray. Having dried a bit and discarded the bags, we set off to find food.

Our hostess, Ms. Coleman, gave us a map and explained that it was impossible to get lost in Inverness. This proved to be true, as we found High Street with little difficulty and stumbled into the weekend's European market, where we found amazing French potatoes and a selection of shiny things. I was finally able to procure a druzy for a decent price. Promising ourselves we'd eat a light lunch and return, we headed into Girvans for a welcome cup of soup and a pot of tea, then returned to the market just as the heavens opened up. Escaping with our goodies, we found the Victorian Market, an old shopping arcade, and ate in the corner while we dripped off. My umbrella was an unfortunate casualty of the day, and so the raincoat was put to the test.

Slightly drier, we ventured off back into Inverness to see more of the town, and eventually made the first of many forays into the Tourist Information Centre. This became our home-away-from-B&B over the weekend, a great place to contemplate the purchase of shortbread, Nessie merchandise, and coo calendars while waiting for the rain to stop. Having checked out the city, stopped for hot chocolate, and discovered the shopping mall just as it was closing, we killed enough time in HMV to feel good about going to dinner, then hit up the cute French restaurant next to Girvans. Remarkably, besides the couple of old ladies in the corner, we were the only diners in the place - Inverness seems to close up on Friday night - but the food was excellent. For lack of a better idea, we popped into a decent Tesco for breakfast rations and headed home to read. As the other two were actually doing homework, I bought a secondhand copy of Mutiny on the Globe and curled up with multiple cups of tea.

Our original plan for Saturday had been to walk to the hotel from whence the Jacobite Tours boat departed for Loch Ness, but this, we discovered that morning, was nine miles away. Undaunted, popped by St. Andrew's Cathedreal for a quick look, then opted for the tour that departed from our friendly neighborhood TIC. En route to the loch, we were regailed with stories about Drumnadrochit, Nessie, and ill-fated water speed attempts, and warned multiple times to be back at the car park by 1:30.

Loch Ness was lovely, if sporadically rainy and cold, and Urquhart Castle was very cool, if also rainy and cold. The £2 umbrella and £1 gloves I acquired in £-Stretchers that morning were probably my best investment all weekend.

After numerous pictures, Nessie sightings, an umbrella dance, a "fil-im," and the occasional bit of hiding out in Urquhart until the rain stopped, we did indeed make it back to the bus with time to spare. Sadly, the plan to bait Nessie with a strawberry Nutragrain bar tied to a piece of floss didn't work out.

Back in Inverness, we were treated to more of the local weather, so we holed up in a cafe with hot chocolate and lunch, then walked around town some more. The mall was vaguely uninteresting, but we were running out of options - November isn't the height of Highland tourist season for a good reason! Rather than waste time in the mall, we returned to the B&B for reading/naptime, then ventured out for an excellent dinner at The Mustard Seed. I miss the glass of Muscat with dessert and our hot French waiter.

Returning to Ivor Villa, we realized we had to check out by 9 AM, giving us four hours to kill in Inverness. Strapped for ideas, we decided to visit the Inverness Floral Hall in the morning.

After provisioning at McDonald's and treating ourselves to a partial recitation of The Little Mermaid with the television across the road, we took a long stroll down the River Ness toward the Floral Hall. It was slightly warmer than Saturday had been, less windy, and the rain was holding off for a change. We explored the islands in the middle of the river, petted the puppies, and goofed off, finally arriving at our destination.

The Floral Hall had two things going for it: there were hothouses, and student admission was only £1.25. It wasn't great - hell, it wasn't really that good - but the koi were enormous, the "Secret Sensory Garden" was...erm...fragrant, and the hothouses were warm. Also, there were "mammiferous" cacti named for some woman. How's that for a token of love?

Realizing that we had managed to kill three hours, we returned to Girvans for lunch, grabbed last-minute snacks at the market, and speedwalked to the bus terminal, where we found our bus, an extended single-level affair, already boarding. Settling in at the rear of the back bus, we discovered that we were behind a group of rowdy high schoolers whose idea of bus behavior was turning on a radio and letting everyone enjoy the music. Luckily, we had headphones, and the kids got off at Perth for the Glasgow connection.

The most disturbing part of the trip back was the scenery, however; mountains that had been brown two days before were dusted with snow. A sign of things to come? We'll find out...

And Uni gets its act together

Amazing.

I checked my bank balance today, only to realize that Accommodations finally debited half of my room fee on Halloween. Well, that's certainly nice, guys. I only had to send you how many e-mails before you took some of the funds? (And by the way, thanks for replying.)

They still haven't taken the full chunk, which makes me happy, since it still looks like I actually have several thousand dollars more than I really do. It was nice having a five-figure bank account. Perhaps I'll know the feeling again some day.

In other news, I'm going to Inverness with Cali and Leigh tomorrow, but two hours before we'd planned to go. Because Uni, for whatever reason, charged poor Leigh three times, she was unable to pre-purchase the correct bus tickets, and by the time she got the matter straightened out, the only tickets left were for the 8:40 AM bus. So yes, I will be a sad, sad panda (that's for you, Mac) in the morning, but with three hours to Inverness and a dozen or so Sudokus to do, I should be in good shape. If all else fails, there will be caffeine. If the bus catches fire (heaven forbid), I will make another blog movie. That seems to be the theme of my videographical works thus far, anyway.

Oh yes...I survived my first midterm assessment! I've never been so nervous about an ungraded assignment. See, kids, that's what too many years of being around Type-A personalities will do for you.

An odd day

Well, the election results returned today, and the Democrats managed to wrestle away control of the House and probably the Senate.

Damn, I hate it when that happens. I had seen the House coming, but I thought the Senate would stay in Republican control. Ah well, you win some, you lose some, and Bob Riley's still my governor, so that's one plus of the day. Bob actually reminded all of us to vote with a Facebook status update yesterday, which really amused me.

The truly odd bit about today came in the form of an e-mail. Over one month ago, I discovered by asking around that I had not been selected to interview for a library position. Today, they finally bothered to tell me:

Thanks for your application for a Student Shelving Assistant post. I apologise for the unusually long delay in replying. I regret to tell you that, on this occasion, you have not been shortlisted for interview. We had a very large number of applications and matching the time slots of the posts available with the applicants meant that difficult choices had to be made.

'Unusually long delay'? This is slow even by Uni standards! Then again, Accommodation has yet to take my money...let's see if they figure it out before Christmas.

Election day

Alas, no video today. This is probably a good thing.

Rumor has it that Teviot's hosting an election returns party tonight, which strikes me as a little silly, as the polls don't close until 7 PM or so. That would put the Eastern polls at midnight here, Central at 1 AM, etc. Honestly, I don't care that much about California's Congressional races. I don't intend to see 3 AM from the wrong side tonight; my ballot was mailed two weeks ago, and there's nothing I can do about it now. Besides, Alabama's elections haven't exactly captured the nation's attention lately.

I was supposed to have my one-to-one meeting about my portfolio today, but my professor appears to have contracted a mutation of the infamous Leighbola and has thus postponed our meeting. Leigh swears she had nothing to do with it, since she doesn't know the man. I might have been an unaffected carrier of the disease. Hurray for vitamins and sweet tea, which seem to be keeping me healthy to this point!

Remember, remember, the Sixth of November

The fire went out, the crowd dispersed, and the Facebook group was created. All that was left to do was see exactly how much damage had been done.

As it turns out, aside from some crispy bracken and the pervasive smell of nasty smoke, not much.

But hey, kids, let's keep something in mind: if you've started a fire on a mountainside, chucking additional fireworks into the blaze is not a smart move.

Click to Play

This is about one-third the size of the last one. Sadly, my videography skills have not improved.

Bonfire Night 2006

To celebrate Guy Fawkes Day, Leigh, Cali, Ian, and I headed out to Arthur's Seat for a little fireworks viewing. The three of us had convinced Ian that actually setting off our own fireworks wasn't such a hot idea. The scene at the park rather reinforced this view - some folks had accidentally set their own bonfire on the mountain.

The resulting video should be viewed with four things in mind:

1) I'm not so great with video cameras, and this wasn't even a proper video camera, anyway.
2) The lighting was anything but ideal.
3) I didn't have a tripod.
4) I didn't realize I had sound until I imported the files. Huh. Imagine that.

That said, Cali and I think the premise (sitting around, watching something bad happen while making comments and passing the candy) could have a great future as a one-act play. This video, however...well, judge for yourself.

Click to Play

Yeah...that's why I'm in Creative Writing, and not film school. The Academy isn't throwing trophies my way...

Come on, Hype

(This post from Saturday seems to have been eaten by my blog host. Hmm...)

Over a late lunch today, I picked up a copy of the university's student magazine, Hype, and glanced through its pages.

Good Lord, someone get those people a copy editor!

I don't consider myself to be a grammar snob - I certainly make my share of gaffes and typos - but if the text is going to print, it should be proofread by multiple people! (I learned this the hard way in high school when a particularly fine issue of the magazine I edited and printed had no fewer than six typos in twenty pages. Ouch.) The Yale Daily News, for example, a paper staffed primarily by undergraduates, has its own dedicated copy staff, and while I certainly noticed the occasional slip-up in the YDN over the course of four years, no single issue contained as many errors as the few pages of Hype I read today. For crying out loud, Rumpus, which is admittedly a low-rent tabloid, makes fewer errors than did this issue of Hype!

Darlings, a few suggestions:
1) Its' is not the possessive form of it. There's no excuse for that one. I never want to see that again.

2) Unless it is part of a legitimate title, please refrain from repeatedly using & in the text of a feature article.

3) I admit that I'm a fan of the Oxford comma, but I can live without it as long as you're consistent about it! Switching styles in the magazine is bad enough, but switching styles in a given piece is ridiculous.

4) While this blog's font doesn't usually show it, allow me to import two forms of the apostrophe:

‘em

’em

The latter is the correct way to shorten them with an apostrophe. The former is typographical laziness. Kids, if you're at all competent with Word, you should know at least one way to make the apostrophe turn around.

Have a little pride in your publication, Hype. Will someone on the editorial board kindly invest in a copy of The Elements of Style and, for extra credit, a copy of Eats, Shoots & Leaves? If you can't be bothered, well, I can think of at least one postgrad willing to give Hype a weekly once-over for a nominal fee.

Going native

The folks at church are very friendly, and everyone seems to want answers to the same set of basic questions: what's my name, where am I from, what am I doing in Edinburgh, how long am I here, and is Creative Writing really a master's program. (Oddly, they seem vaguely impressed with mine, and vaguely impressed but worried by the Texan alto, Emily, and her MSc in Politics.)

Today I had a few moments alone with Isa, an adorable 97-year-old lady and former choir member who knows everyone at church, even if she can't see or hear them most of the time. Unfortunately, Isa has poor eyesight and is rather hard of hearing, so the way to talk to her is, apparently, to shout in her right ear. Fair enough.

Maggie, one of the sopranos, made the initial introductions by shouting my name a few times (Roy the organist later had to spell it out for clarification), and was then called out of the room. "Sorry to leave!" she said to me. "Isa is deaf!"

At that moment, Isa asked me where I was from. Figuring I had better give as many clues as possible without yelling it, I slowly replied, "United States."

"Oh, that's nice," she smiled. "Glasgow is a lovely city."

I tried a few times to get it across to her (Roy's comments in front of the two of us about American hymn tunes notwithstanding), but gave it up. She's too cute to yell at, and that's the first time anyone's taken me for Scottish.

Guilty pleasures

Friday deserves special recognition as the official start of the weekend. To celebrate, I've been making a day of it.

The morning began with a pleasant walk in the...ahem...crisp autumn air. Leigh and I now know why so many people over here are pale with rosy cheeks.

Afterwards, I went to the theater to procure Borat tickets for tonight, then noticed the St. James shopping center, and thought I should check it out. The first store was an HMV, so I gave in and completed my Meat Loaf collection.
As iTunes's reviewer put it, "The third installment in the Bat Out of Hell saga is far from a subtle affair," but that's why we love Meat Loaf. Once again, a big thank you is due to Rhonda Vegliante for sharing Bat Out of Hell and Bat Out of Hell II. There's nothing quite like a Meat Loaf cover of "It's All Coming Back to Me Now."

On the way back, I caved and bought a £3 Starbucks Gingerbread Latte. Not as sweet as the American version, which was a disappointment, but it gives me something to look forward to at Christmas.

Also, plans are in the works for an Inverness weekend next week...it's about time we did some Loch Ness monster spotting!

A good day all around

Things were good here in E'burgh today:

1) Weather: Cold, but not yet to the point of eyelids frozen shut and chapped hands. Also clear and sunny, which counts for a heck of a lot in these parts.

2) Food: My much-delayed care packages arrived, bringing more muffin mix than I know what to do with and five dozen cookies. Two dozen of these cookies contain Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. Guess which ones we're eating first...

3) Entertainment: Our professors put on a "Day of the Dead" reading after class today. There was screwcap wine. I volunteered to pour the wine, which made me remember the good old days of the Mellon Forum. Oh Aides, more vino!

4) Tomorrow's Prospects: Leigh and I will take a morning constitutional around the park, and then I will go to the theater to purchase tickets for the Borat movie tomorrow night. This should prove rather amusing...more to come!

Farewell, Bob Barker

I just saw the announcement this morning that Bob Barker, the sketchy old man of my childhood summers and 35-year host of The Price is Right, will be stepping down in June (http://tv.msn.com/tv/article.aspx?news=239855&GT1=7703).

A few highlights from the article:

1) Bob has been on national television for 50 years and on TPIR for 35.

2) According to Bob, "I will be 83 years old on December 12, and I've decided to retire while I'm still young."

3) Bob is willing to consider film roles during his retirement, but wishes to make one thing clear: "I refuse to do nude scenes. These Hollywood producers want to capitalize on my obvious sexuality, but I don't want to be just another beautiful body."

4) Bob will end his final show with his usual tag: "Help control the pet population. Have your pet spayed or neutered."

Bob, you can still grope the contestants, hang out with the Beauties, and get kissed by who knows how many college students and grandmothers per year. Hollywood needs a body like yours, you stud. Carry on, o Sultan of the Showcase Showdown.

Trick or treat?

Huzzah! We've made it to yet another Halloween! Sadly, I'll not be in attendance at the YSO Halloween Drunken Fiesta Shindig tonight, which is a pity, but instead we're having yet another Creative Writing-related Halloween party. The theme is 'tuxedos and blood.' Should be interesting...

I was told on Sunday that the British actually make their kids work for candy while trick or treating. In the States, it's just a matter of ringing the doorbell and looking cute. Here, they supposedly have to sing a song or recite a poem or some other such nonsense. Personally, if I were asked to recite a poem for an orange (yes, some actually give fruit in lieu of candy), I'd probably TP the house. This is Halloween, people, night of free candy! Either you hand over the treat, or the kiddies do you a trick. That's the deal.

Perhaps I should have learned a poem after all, as the postal service has yet again denied me my care packages. Trick or treat, indeed.

How to write an 'A' essay

My Postmodern Lit class is beginning to panic. 'Tis the season to start planning the big Final Essay, the source of our entire grade for the semester, and this is the first college-level literature essay some members of the class have ever tackled.

To quell some of the fears, our professor spent the class today mapping out a high pass essay on the problem of point of view in Foe. She liked the result, telling us it would be at least a 75, then reminding the Americans that a 75 was an exceptional grade. Most of us pitched in on the essay's planning, and I have to admit that the outline looked pretty spiffy to me, too.

Of course, we can't use it. Rats. Back to the drawing board...

When the soprano doesn't know the song, either...

...you know it's going to be touch-and-go for the next three minutes.

I've never before sung in a three-person (two trebles and a man of unspecified part) choir with organ and congregation, but things seemed to go well this morning. Despite the fact that most of the choir was sitting out to serve Communion and that not even the soprano knew all the hymns, we made it through. Her track record was better than mine, as I knew exactly one hymn ("Crown Him With Many Crowns") and one tune (69, to the words on 34) out of five hymns, and was sight-reading everything else. When the alto line got too confusing, I gave up and jumped to the melody, though no one seemed to mind - with a group that small, part-jumping's a common phenomenon.

A postgrad from Texas may be joining next week, which would be great - another alto to muddle through unfamiliar hymns!

The only downside to this morning was a bad attack of first-performance nerves, worse than usual because I hardly knew the music (there's not even a piano in the practice area, nor was there a warm-up). Fortunately, the shaking was limited to my legs. Thirteen years of choral singing has taught me at least a little upper-body control! Still, even though a long skirt and the organ hid the worst of the tremors, it was rather annoying to be shaking during the service. It's not as if anyone was going to boo in church...

The best part of Saturday

Today - once the inevitable showers stopped - was a lovely day. There was a bagel picnic lunch in the fifth floor kitchen, a nice walk around Holyrood Park, a "fancy dress" party, and some actual work done.

The best part, however, is that tomorrow ends Daylight Saving Time. One glorious extra hour of sleep...yessssss...

Tomorrow will (perhaps) also be my debut in the Kirk o' Field choir. More to come on that front...

Just like old times

Last year, once we moved into a renovated Davenport with brand-spanking-new 1,000-decibel fire alarms, we happy few experienced the joy of D'port's unbeatable fire warning system.

"Happy" isn't quite right, actually, since many of these fire alarms took place at 3:30 AM, or in the rain, or in the snow, or when we just had something better to do than stand in the courtyard in various states of dishabille and bitch about how loud and obnoxious the sirens were. It was, however, a time of bonding, a time when D'porters young and old could gather together in the freezing nights, huddle for warmth, and threaten death to the parties responsible. And then there were the post-alarm lockouts...

We had a taste of good old D'port here this morning. I'd gone to bed at 1:30 AM and set my clock for 8, but then hit the snooze button for a few more minutes of semi-sleep. The sun was only just coming up, anyway, and heck, it was Friday. Five minutes later, the sirens started blaring. Knowing that they only test the system on Tuesday mornings and that no one would be stupid enough to pull an alarm on Friday, most of us grabbed coats and pants and headed outside. It was quite a fashion show - some fortunate ones were fully dressed and shod, while others wore interesting mismashes of pajamas and streetwear. A few were in boxer shorts or bathrobes. Twenty minutes later, when the firemen gave the all-clear, we stampeded inside. Some headed back to bed, but for many of us, the dawn temperature shock had done the trick better than any cup of coffee.

Apparently, someone had been drying her hair directly underneath the smoke detector. Note to self...

Dodging raindrops

This was the view out my window this morning at 8 AM. Not too promising - rather dark and dreary, if you're honest about it. The zoo cancellation was rather fortuitous, as no one, especially those who have contracted the mysterious flu-like cold, really needed to be out in the cold and wet.

Five minutes after this picture was taken, it began to pour again, just like last night. Resigning myself to a day spent mostly indoors, I went about my business until 10, when the rain mysteriously stopped and bits of blue - right, right, the so-called sky - made an appearance. I decided that a walk was in order to keep me sane, and so I grabbed my tennis shoes (and waterproof jacket, no sense in tempting fate) and headed for the park.

I got there by a back route of which I'd been previously unaware, a nice little path through the greenway across from the park proper. Trees were beginning to change color and the berries were coming out, and everything looked rather nice and autumnal. Looking across the road at the Crags, I suddenly remembered why I like Holyrood so much - it's stunning when the weather cooperates.

Entering the park, I headed across the grass toward the paths up the hill, only to notice something a bit inconvenient (besides the mud sucking at my shoes): the wind was stronger than I'd realized, and I'd left my ponytail holder at home. No matter; I stuck my hair down the back of my shirt and went on as well as I could, pulling flyaway bits back once in a while (like every thirty seconds or so).

For the benefit of anyone who's never seen me on a hike, I'm not the world's best. Actually, I'm pretty close to inept. I love getting out on a nice day, but I do best on flat terrain - hiking uphill's no problem, but coming down is another matter entirely. (In this regard, my parents' new puppy and I have something in common - she still can't figure out how to go down stairs.) Still, I'm trying to improve, and so I like to take little hikes around the Crags, where there's usually an easier way around if I get too flustered.

Well, today really wasn't the day for that. The wind, which had been a mild nuisance on the ground, was now whipping around my head at thirty to forty miles per hour. I found myself on a bit of a ledge overlooking Edinburgh - a nice view but for the gathering, ominous clouds over the Pentlands - unsure how to get down and being thrust against the rock by the force of the wind. This was not helping me find my happy place. Giving up on the way I came, fearing an imminent downpour, I continued over the trail and mercifully saw the path back to the lower trail off the mountain.

It sprinkled a bit on the way home, but that was all. Still a nice day for a walk, even if one would do well to stay on the ground.

An enjoyable, if non-productive, day

I woke up this morning and worked on a short story for class. That was the only productive thing I did today, and it was over by 1:30.

The rest of the time was spent in enjoyable diversions, such as :

1) Wintersmith, Terry Pratchett's new Tiffany Aching novel. Yeah, it's a kids' story, but it's as much fun as the other Discworld books. Plus, there's a great amount of satisfaction in reading 400 pages in under four hours.

2) The Price is Right, UK-style. Man, if Bob Barker ever decided that the 70s decor should really go by the wayside, he'd know where to look. The show's only half an hour long, so some details (like the Showcase Showdown) have been modified, but the presenter's nutty and doesn't give off the creepy-old-man vibe when he kisses a girl. Some of the "Beauties" are male. Also, the announcer's a bit cheekier with prize descriptions, and no one had the chance to win a Ford. A Fiat was up for grabs, though...

3) Super Mario Brothers 2: relearning the first level was never this fun on an honest-to-God NES.

Sadly, the zoo trip appears to be off for tomorrow, as the birthday boy and half the crew have apparently contracted some deadly flu-like illness. I'm hoping the magic vitamins keep working. Beyond the fact that everyone is ill, I imagine I'm in for the night because of the rain and violent-sounding wind outside my room. Tomorrow night is Richmond Place curry dinner, however, so there's something to look forward to!

Dear God, why?

Dear British Television News Executives,

I realize your "presenters" are basically what we in the States refer to as "talking heads," but even if they do no real writing or reporting, they should still be held to a certain standard of dress. Please take note of the following:

Ladies: Blouses that expose several inches of cleavage may be lovely and tasteful streetwear, but they are inappropriate for the evening news. This is a family program. Cute little sweater sets may cut it before ten AM, but are likewise inappropriate for a "serious" broadcast. If one is sitting during a liveshot and one's lower body is to be revealed, then please, for the love of God, leave the black miniskirt and patterned fishnet tights at home. This isn't high school. Go talk to the nice ladies at Jenners if you require further assistance.

Gentlemen: Does "Western Business Attire" ring a bell? If not, ask someone. Suit and tie is the norm, fellows, but it's not enough to just throw on a jacket and neckwear - they must complement each other. At no time should the tie resemble an Easter egg. Bright patchwork affairs are right out. Do invest in a jacket well-tailored enough to remain closed about one's midsection while seated, which gives the presentation a more formal polish. Oh yes, one other thing: if there is any chance, however slight, of a full-length seated profile shot, never, never, never wear rainbow-striped socks. I don't care if they're dress socks. They look ridiculous.

Honestly, presenters, Ron Burgundy and the Channel 4 News Team had a better grasp of fashion than that. For shame.

Monday again

Well, it's Monday, and aside from the post-Ian's-birthday recovery (not that much, actually), not a lot happened today. I still need to find a Halloween costume this week. My sister, just back from Head of the Charles, where their boat was struck by one of Yale's (how did that happen?), has informed me that she wants SweetTart-based suckers for Christmas. At least they're cheap.

Since nothing that exciting happened today, I'll post another YouTube video: one of the "Real Men of Genius" series, a group of commercials that should be played much more often. Enjoy!

Good news and bad

First, the good news: I have now joined Kirk o' Field's choir. Granted, there are only four, maybe five, people in the choir at any one time, and since next week is Communion and most of the choir is serving, we may just be a treble duet, but it's a church choir. They're very friendly, and they got so excited when I said I wanted to join up. Practice is half an hour before services. I can handle that.

Now the bad: I decided to take a walk this afternoon, and headed over to Princes Street for a little retail therapy. Unfortunately, I have Armani leanings on a TopShop budget, and I wasn't seeing anything I was just dying to have. I finally wound up in Jenners just to look at the pretty stuff I couldn't afford (man, I miss the power of the parental AMEX), and headed up to their admittedly swanky food hall for a look around. On the wall was a display of Jelly Bellies. You know, the mix-n-match jelly beans found in such fine retailers as Target and many major supermarkets.

Well, it was the first time I'd seen them since I came over here (which should have been a hint), so I grabbed a baggie and got probably a pound of jelly beans to munch on during the week. There were no price signs around the jelly beans, but this didn't really faze me - how much could jelly beans be, right?

Oh, stupid mistake.

I get to the check-out counter to pay for the beans, only to discover that they were £8.58. SEVENTEEN DOLLARS FOR JELLY BEANS?!? was the thought running through my mind, but you can't very well put them back, now can you?

At least they're fresh. I think.

Culinary success

I made mashed potatoes tonight with nothing more than a fork! Score!

That wasn't the only oddity about the situation. First off, Tesco's idea of "baking potatoes" is roughly the same as the American idea of "potato that's bigger than a new potato but is in no way suitable as a stand-alone side dish." Still, once I found a handy kettle and matching lid (wow, what a concept...), a cutting board, and a knife that sort of cut, I was able to chop a couple of those suckers up and get the water boiling. I left the skins on - peeling's not really my forte, and anyway, I could probably use the extra vitamins. The water only boiled over twice before I turned the heat all the way down.

Ten minutes or so on the stove, and they were ready to be savagely attacked by a splash of milk and a sturdy fork. I missed the electric mixer. I missed it badly.

The spuds came out well, however, unlike some of my previous weekend attempts at actual food, and now I have leftovers for lunch tomorrow. Wow. Honest-to-God leftovers. Just like Sunday lunch at home, only without the homemade lasagna my parents are now enjoying without me...

Eleven things I've learned today

1) In departments other than Creative Writing, including the other branches of LLC, lectures actually start on time.

2) Tesco makes ribs to go.

3) Tesco's ribs to go pale in comparison to, say, Chili's.

4) Tesco has no Splenda in jars left on the shelf, and may have discontinued selling it.

5) My mother is willing to send Splenda from Alabama if Tesco has indeed stopped selling it.

6) Strongbow comes in two-liter plastic bottles as well as pints.

7) House of Flying Daggers is gorgeous, but does not end well.

8) My Name Is Earl is actually rather amusing, though partially incomprehensible to those unfamiliar with the accent.

9) In the UK, it's entirely permissible for television shows to use a certain four-letter word verboten on American TV (rhymes with Chuck), but only after nine, when all the kiddies have most assuredly gone to bed.

10) The Man Show could just have a following in the UK. "Juggies" is a concept that translates well.

11) Ian knows the head of the trampoline team. Oh dear.

Culture Night

Thanks to Ruth, who happened to know that student tickets at Scottish Chamber Orchestra concerts are only £5, five of us enjoyed a night of Romantic pieces, including a Weber overture, a lovely Mendelssohn piano concerto, and a Schumann symphony. Highlights of the performance included the conductor's frenetic arms and waving hair, the concert master's crazy wiggling, and the pianist's rotations to the beat. It was an active orchestra, to say the least. Still, it was quite strange to be on the receiving end of an orchestral performance; most of the ones I've attended in recent years have been heard from the risers behind the orchestra. I miss you, YGC!

After culture, we headed to a nifty vodka bar for drinks. Ella and I indulged in the cheap virgin coladas, as we had no change on us, while Ruth, Leigh, and Cali each got something involving raspberry, vodka, and crazy amounts of frozen fruit. The best bits of the place include their insanely large (and colorful) menu, the "USA" shooter, the "American Psycho" pitcher (put everything ever distilled in the USA in one glass and serve cold with Coke), the £60 pitcher with an entire bottle of Moet & Chandon included in the mix, various vodka-based drinks with a liberal amount of chocolate added in, and the window display of tiny bottles of absinthe, which is 138-proof. Green fairy, anyone?

What not to do when applying for a job

I never knew Aleksey Vayner while I was at Yale. Apparently he dropped out freshman year and is now part of '07 - at least, for a while longer. And yet, I feel I missed out on something special. Davenport could claim AKS, a Yale legend in his own right. Calhoun now has Aleksey Vayner, who seems to be a pathological liar and is definitely the author of a resume video so amazing that various firms sent it around as a "You've got to see this" forward. Eventually, IvyGate got a hold of it, sent it to YouTube, and now this newest addition to the "viral video" catalogue has made it as far as The Today Show, where I finally saw it this morning (thanks, MSN video). This guy has made the papers in Europe, for crying out loud.

A few highlights, courtesy of his 11-page resume (?!?) and his interview with Rumpus (always a credible news source) during Bulldog Days in 2002: Vayner claims to have started an investment firm (non-existent address, and the website is currently down), founded a charity (again, bogus, and Charity Navigator is considering a lawsuit), and written a book (self-published and largely plagiarized from the Holocaust Encyclopedia). He's also a massage therapist, all-star tennis player, martial arts master, and - oh yes - he's on the dance team.

I was happy with my job in the Davenport Master's Office, my time with the Glee Club, and my one year with the Yale Record. I thought three summers with Executive Traveler would certainly suffice for a kid just out of college. But can I bust bricks with my bare hands? Have I received training from Tibetan lamas? Did I bother sending anyone a video of my philosophy on success? Oh no, I didn't. But at least now I'm not the laughing stock of the Internet.

Mom, Dad, I may not have a job yet, but at least there's a good chance I'm employable. The next time I ask for muffin mix in a transatlantic care package, think of Aleksey Vayner's poor parents and know how much worse it could be.

For the whole story, check out IvyGate's blog: http://www.ivygateblog.com/blog/tags/aleksey_vayner.

A gray day in Edinburgh

It started as gray.
Then it progressed to gray and cloudy.
Gray and cloudy turned into gray and freakishly foggy during class, to the point that the lovely view out ninth floor of the David Hume Tower was completely obscured.
Now it's just cold, dark, and cloudy.
Here's looking forward to tomorrow! We're having a guest reader, which will be a high point. On another positive note, I've once again successfully made muffins!

On days like today, one needs a bit of fun. For anyone who's not yet seen this, especially any Glee Clubbers who were there that year we sang at the YSO Halloween Show, this is my favorite ad ever: Carlton Draught's "Big Ad." Enjoy!