Callie (my dog, Ian) is now just over a year old, and is turning out to be a ball-crazy border collie. I've discovered that, to Callie at least, I have one purpose in life: to Throw The Ball.
We have a yellow spiky football that we adore. The sole purpose of consciousness is to retrieve the ball or to tug on it. Either works, really.
I was trying to check my e-mail today when I felt a head insert itself under my arm, slipping into prime petting position. Fair enough, I thought, giving the dog a rub, then felt her slip away. A moment later, something fell into my lap, and I looked down to find the yellow football waiting for me. Callie stood at the ready, looking at me as if she had just given me the greatest gift the universe has ever known, and stepped back, waiting for the toss. I threw it, she retrieved it, and the cycle continued for several minutes. Eventually, I told her I didn't want to play any more, then turned from her sorrowful eyes to the MSN homepage.
A moment later, a piece of wet fleece landed in my lap, and I turned to see Callie's hopeful eyes and the other end of the fleece, which she was holding in her mouth.
The dog doesn't sleep. This might be a problem...
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Home again
I was slightly too warm in bed this morning, so my first thought was to open the window and let in a little breeze.
Then I saw the condensation on the window, quickly remembered where I was, and nixed the idea.
I'd forgotten what a hothouse Birmingham is this time of year. It's been a rough summer over here, too, though in exactly the opposite way to what's been plaguing Britain. We've had little rain - the grass isn't happy, and the country club has posted big signs saying they water with well water, as residents are now only allowed to water two days a week - and the temperature was into triple digits for a few days before I arrived. Now that the rain has begun to return, stepping outside feels like walking into the tropical plants building at your local botanical gardens, all of about 95 degrees with 90 percent humidity.
At least you never have to steam your clothes.
It's currently 7:30 AM. My body's still wondering which time zone it's supposed to be in, and why the sun is rising so late and setting so early. I'm also hurting in muscles I'd forgotten about in my arms and back, as I've spent the last two days either hauling luggage or unpacking it. My troubles began at the airport, when the nice man behind the Continental counter informed me that my bag was overweight.
I asked if I could just pay the overweight charge.
No, he informed me, my bag was 32 kg, which was legally too heavy for them to carry.
Thanks to a bit of adjustment, I left my two 70-lb bags with the airliner and carried my 40-lb backpack onto the plane. The clerk, being a nice guy and accepting my "I just got out of Uni" excuse, didn't charge me extra.
When I got to Newark, I had to reclaim my bags and go through Customs. This was a pain for several reasons, most notably because Jersey charges $3 to rent a cart, and there was no way I was parting with cash for one of those. I ran over and into people, but I made it through Customs and on to Nashville, and my luggage, magically enough, made it. Wonders never cease.
I also had a Chick-fil-A nugget stop at glorious Exit 351 (Athens) at 9:30 PM on the way home, because my mother is awesome like that.
My interview was at 9 AM the next day, but surprisingly, I had no problem rising at 6 to prepare. The interview itself seemed to go well - I was with the interviewer for an hour and a half, and I'm being brought back next week to meet more people - and then it was off to the DMV to become legally licensed once again. I ran into my grandmother, of all people, in the line, and had to yell her name to get her attention; she was too busy telling the woman behind her about her granddaughter, who was home from Scotland, to notice me. She then told me that her dog had to have fluid taken out of its neck. Good times.
Following this, it was off to Brio for lunch, but first I met my mother and sister at their usual Brookwood hangout, the shoe department at Gus Mayer. My former bosses there are awesome, and since Mom realized I'd been in my three-inch heels all day and was not the happiest camper about that, she insisted we buy a pair of flats for me before lunch. Breaking my new shoes in, I followed them across the street, then indulged in lobster bisque and a Bellini (heaven) before heading home to begin the unpacking process. I managed to get the contents of my two suitcases onto my bed before it was time to get coat hangers and drive to Mountain Brook for my pedicure.
We're going to the beach tomorrow, my mother explained. I need a pedicure.
I wasn't going to say no.
Due to a little confusion, my pedicure turned into a mani/pedi, and my nails are now this burgundy shade better known as "Frostbite". I told Cyndy that they would match my skin tone well after my first day at the Gulf. We shall see.
Dinner was barbeque - one of my mom's coworkers has an enormous smoker and makes briskets for people. He's amazing - and then I began to put the mess into my closet and unpack the other two suitcases in my room. Around 10:30, back and knees aching, I'd had enough and crawled into bed.
It's off now to take the dog for a walk, finish filling out my application form, and go to a choir audition this afternoon. In the meanwhile, thank God for air conditioning.
Then I saw the condensation on the window, quickly remembered where I was, and nixed the idea.
I'd forgotten what a hothouse Birmingham is this time of year. It's been a rough summer over here, too, though in exactly the opposite way to what's been plaguing Britain. We've had little rain - the grass isn't happy, and the country club has posted big signs saying they water with well water, as residents are now only allowed to water two days a week - and the temperature was into triple digits for a few days before I arrived. Now that the rain has begun to return, stepping outside feels like walking into the tropical plants building at your local botanical gardens, all of about 95 degrees with 90 percent humidity.
At least you never have to steam your clothes.
It's currently 7:30 AM. My body's still wondering which time zone it's supposed to be in, and why the sun is rising so late and setting so early. I'm also hurting in muscles I'd forgotten about in my arms and back, as I've spent the last two days either hauling luggage or unpacking it. My troubles began at the airport, when the nice man behind the Continental counter informed me that my bag was overweight.
I asked if I could just pay the overweight charge.
No, he informed me, my bag was 32 kg, which was legally too heavy for them to carry.
Thanks to a bit of adjustment, I left my two 70-lb bags with the airliner and carried my 40-lb backpack onto the plane. The clerk, being a nice guy and accepting my "I just got out of Uni" excuse, didn't charge me extra.
When I got to Newark, I had to reclaim my bags and go through Customs. This was a pain for several reasons, most notably because Jersey charges $3 to rent a cart, and there was no way I was parting with cash for one of those. I ran over and into people, but I made it through Customs and on to Nashville, and my luggage, magically enough, made it. Wonders never cease.
I also had a Chick-fil-A nugget stop at glorious Exit 351 (Athens) at 9:30 PM on the way home, because my mother is awesome like that.
My interview was at 9 AM the next day, but surprisingly, I had no problem rising at 6 to prepare. The interview itself seemed to go well - I was with the interviewer for an hour and a half, and I'm being brought back next week to meet more people - and then it was off to the DMV to become legally licensed once again. I ran into my grandmother, of all people, in the line, and had to yell her name to get her attention; she was too busy telling the woman behind her about her granddaughter, who was home from Scotland, to notice me. She then told me that her dog had to have fluid taken out of its neck. Good times.
Following this, it was off to Brio for lunch, but first I met my mother and sister at their usual Brookwood hangout, the shoe department at Gus Mayer. My former bosses there are awesome, and since Mom realized I'd been in my three-inch heels all day and was not the happiest camper about that, she insisted we buy a pair of flats for me before lunch. Breaking my new shoes in, I followed them across the street, then indulged in lobster bisque and a Bellini (heaven) before heading home to begin the unpacking process. I managed to get the contents of my two suitcases onto my bed before it was time to get coat hangers and drive to Mountain Brook for my pedicure.
We're going to the beach tomorrow, my mother explained. I need a pedicure.
I wasn't going to say no.
Due to a little confusion, my pedicure turned into a mani/pedi, and my nails are now this burgundy shade better known as "Frostbite". I told Cyndy that they would match my skin tone well after my first day at the Gulf. We shall see.
Dinner was barbeque - one of my mom's coworkers has an enormous smoker and makes briskets for people. He's amazing - and then I began to put the mess into my closet and unpack the other two suitcases in my room. Around 10:30, back and knees aching, I'd had enough and crawled into bed.
It's off now to take the dog for a walk, finish filling out my application form, and go to a choir audition this afternoon. In the meanwhile, thank God for air conditioning.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
I have to pack my computer now
The last things to go into a suitcase: deodorant, toothbrush, laptop...
Drinking before bed gives me strange, vivid dreams, but at least it makes me sleep, which I usually don't have the night before a trip. As it was, I woke at 6:15, only one hour before my alarm was scheduled to go off, which isn't too shabby. Thank you, Feijoa Sour, Honey Monster, and Diet Pepsi, for guaranteeing that consciousness will last at least long enough to get me on the plane. After that, I don't really care what happens, so long as I wake up in Newark with my luggage.
I gave in and had one last meal of Tesco lemon and coriander couscous and peas last night, as I didn't want Chinese two dinners in a row and had already thrown away my soy sauce. I go now to finish cleaning out my kitchen cabinets, make myself a bowl of oatmeal, and catch a few minutes of GMTV. First, though, I have to pack this computer, which means these are my final minutes on ResNet. Hallelujah.
Guys, y'all have been great, and it's been a pleasure meeting you. All the best with the packing, moving, TAing, and job hunting, and please do keep in touch! That, as I've been reminded, is what Facebook's for.
Goodbye for now, Edinburgh. I'll try to haste myself back.
Drinking before bed gives me strange, vivid dreams, but at least it makes me sleep, which I usually don't have the night before a trip. As it was, I woke at 6:15, only one hour before my alarm was scheduled to go off, which isn't too shabby. Thank you, Feijoa Sour, Honey Monster, and Diet Pepsi, for guaranteeing that consciousness will last at least long enough to get me on the plane. After that, I don't really care what happens, so long as I wake up in Newark with my luggage.
I gave in and had one last meal of Tesco lemon and coriander couscous and peas last night, as I didn't want Chinese two dinners in a row and had already thrown away my soy sauce. I go now to finish cleaning out my kitchen cabinets, make myself a bowl of oatmeal, and catch a few minutes of GMTV. First, though, I have to pack this computer, which means these are my final minutes on ResNet. Hallelujah.
Guys, y'all have been great, and it's been a pleasure meeting you. All the best with the packing, moving, TAing, and job hunting, and please do keep in touch! That, as I've been reminded, is what Facebook's for.
Goodbye for now, Edinburgh. I'll try to haste myself back.
Monday, August 27, 2007
I'm Leaving on a Jet Plane (Reprise)
It's official: in less than 24 hours, I'll be on a plane back to Birmingham.Well, let me amend that statement. In less than 24 hours, I'll be on a plane to Newark, which will then lead to a plane ride to Nashville, which will end with a three-hour drive home to Birmingham. By the time I get reacquainted with my dog and my bed, it will probably be pushing 11 PM, which will feel like 5 AM.
I have a job interview at 9 AM CDT the next morning. That's 3 PM BST, but suffice it to say I'll be knocking back the Coke, tea, coffee, and anything else caffeinated that I find around the kitchen. I have a vague idea where I'm going for said interview, but I'll be driving again for the first time since the New Year, and on the correct side of the road.
This should be interesting.
I have a voice audition the next day, plus a theoretical pedicure (depending on my scheduling), and then we're off to the beach for a long weekend. It's been too long since I've been to Gulf Shores. The last time I was down, Jen and I made the drive to escape Birmingham's lousy New Year's celebrations, and the sand felt like cold cement. Since the daytime highs over there have been in the nineties or above for the last few weeks, I expect things will be quite a bit warmer. (It's always interesting to look at the MSN forecasts and realize that Edinburgh's daytime high is ten degrees cooler than Birmingham's nighttime low.) Of course, seeing as I got a sunburn last week from sitting outside at lunchtime on our one seventy-degree day, Gulf Shores could be a bit on the painful side. Maybe the hotel sells SPF 60...As you can see from the photographs, my room currently looks much as it did on move-in day. I've packed as much as I can, spent as many 1p and 2p coins as my conscience will allow at Tesco's self-checkout, and now it's time to play the waiting game until we go out tonight. The Fringe is almost over (some good, some awful, some avant-garde, like last night's Macbeth: Who is That Bloodied Man?), I've done my final tour of the Royal Mile, and I'll head to the park for the last time when I finish writing this. I've managed to go an entire year without eating haggis, though I've had a few wee drams and my share of shortbread.
I'm bringing home two packs of McVittie's Milk Chocolate Digestives, as I have no idea whether World Market sells them. I've closed my bank account, booked my airport shuttle, and said my farewells to my Oxford professor gym buddy. I've probably heard my last renditions of "Scotland the Brave" and "Highland Cathedral", and spent my last quid at TopShop. My mobile won't be topped up again, or at least not for a long time. I've had my last Favorit nachos (perhaps forever, if they don't re-open), my last lunch at the Mosque Kitchen, my one and only deep-fried Mars bar. I've seen my last episode of The Jeremy Kyle Show, though I'll catch Kitchen Criminals tonight at dinner. I've laughed through my last episode of Big Brother on the Couch. I've had my last dinner of instant couscous and Tesco peas, eaten my last Tesco Value Prawn, and drunk my last pint of Strongbow or pear cider. I've received my last student discount (my card expires in September). I'll put away the pans tomorrow morning, but that will be the last time I tidy up the fourth floor's kitchen. I've heard the rumbling of the stupid Lidl produce delivery truck for the last time.
I've already said quite a few goodbyes.Looking over my blog entries from September, I'm a little amazed by all the things I didn't know and somehow managed to pick up along the way. This gives me hope for this September, but the situation I'm heading into is, if possible, even more nebulously defined than was grad school. I griped that Edinburgh Uni wasn't sending me pertinent information last summer, but at least there was someone in charge, theoretically holding a master plan that would be revealed to us in good time. For the first time in 19 years, I won't be going back-to-school shopping. I will need to purchase a work wardrobe, but it's not the same. The lack of a timetable, of firm deadlines, is what unnerves me, I suppose. This is it, gap year's over, and now it's time to learn to be a Real Adult.
Whatever the heck that entails.
Am I ready to leave? No. I wasn't ready to leave Yale, either (though I was infinitely more attached to that university). I don't just leave things well. I'm settled, I have some idea of what's around me, and I know some great people in this city. Of course, most of them are leaving, too, but I'm going to miss this place. Maybe not the sketchier bits of the south side, but I'll miss Holyrood Park, I'll miss the tartan-swathed expanse of the Royal Mile, and I'll miss streets with names the average American can't pronounce on the first try. For its lousy weather, Edinburgh's a great city, and I'm grateful for this year.
I'm returning to a city I know fairly intimately but have assuredly forgotten, this time as an adult. People move on, places change, friends marry off and scatter. It's a bit jarring to me now every time I hear a random American accent on the street, so how much stranger will it be to be immersed in the land of the drawl once again, never hearing anyone talk about his mates, giving an 'Aye' for the affirmative, or thanking me with 'Cheers'? Football will once again be a game played with an oblong ball and shoulder pads, college will be that place you go after high school, and color will not be spelled with a u. People will pronounce this city's name with a '-burg' and not a '-burra' (or a '-bra', as the Londoners do). It will no longer be posh to be from down south. I'm going to have a heck of a time finding decent scones.
Don't get me wrong, I'm looking forward to seeing my family again and to embarking upon this next phase in my life. I just realize that I'm about to enter another period of testing the waters, trying to remember how the rhythms go and how I fit in, but this time carrying all the baggage of a fifth year away with me, including an unexplainable affinity for bagpipes and the idea that a 10 PM summer sunset is early. I'm excited, and I'm ready for the waiting to be over.
I just hate goodbyes.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Odds and ends
Sunday morning was bittersweet. I read in church for the third time (and didn't shake, for once, thank God), and then Ian called me back up for a little presentation and Q&A...
"So, easy first question: tell us where you're from."
"Birmingham, Alabama." [Silence] "The States..."
"Ah, that explains it."
"Yes, the other Birmingham."
He then handed me a sweet card from the choir and a lovely pewter quaich, and there was much post-service hugging and admonitions to come back soon. Roy even let me escape with one of the old hymnals, so now I actually have a record of the songs I've sight-read this year. On the way out, I was given one more card, this one by Norma's mother, who hugs me every Sunday morning.
One of the readings this morning was Acts 20:17-35, in which Paul stands on the shore and bids farewell to the Ephesians, telling them he'll never see them again. Ian said it was oddly appropriate, all things considered, but we both hope to leave off the last bit. I'm really going to miss Kirk o'Field. It's tiny, but the people are as nice as they come. I also have a standing invitation to pop back into the choir any time I'm in town, which I do hope to take advantage of in the near future.
Other than that, I've spent the day packing, proofreading, and collecting payment for all three outstanding dissertations, which was a relief. Tonight will be Macbeth: Who is That Bloodied Man?, and we'll be having a little Bar Kohl outing tomorrow night.
Just as long as I don't have to fly with a hangover...I've got a job interview 14 hours after I hit the ground, and a choir audition the next day!
"So, easy first question: tell us where you're from."
"Birmingham, Alabama." [Silence] "The States..."
"Ah, that explains it."
"Yes, the other Birmingham."
He then handed me a sweet card from the choir and a lovely pewter quaich, and there was much post-service hugging and admonitions to come back soon. Roy even let me escape with one of the old hymnals, so now I actually have a record of the songs I've sight-read this year. On the way out, I was given one more card, this one by Norma's mother, who hugs me every Sunday morning.
One of the readings this morning was Acts 20:17-35, in which Paul stands on the shore and bids farewell to the Ephesians, telling them he'll never see them again. Ian said it was oddly appropriate, all things considered, but we both hope to leave off the last bit. I'm really going to miss Kirk o'Field. It's tiny, but the people are as nice as they come. I also have a standing invitation to pop back into the choir any time I'm in town, which I do hope to take advantage of in the near future.
Other than that, I've spent the day packing, proofreading, and collecting payment for all three outstanding dissertations, which was a relief. Tonight will be Macbeth: Who is That Bloodied Man?, and we'll be having a little Bar Kohl outing tomorrow night.
Just as long as I don't have to fly with a hangover...I've got a job interview 14 hours after I hit the ground, and a choir audition the next day!
Saturday, August 25, 2007
A wee bit of insanity
My weekend, from last night through Sunday, is scheduled as follows:
Friday afternoon: proofread a dissertation.
Friday night: go to the Peartree for celebratory drinks, see an amazing Fringe show involving little more than two Australian men in a state of rather flagrant dishabille, and return to the Peartree to tell the class (the girls, at least) all about it.
Saturday morning: proofread another dissertation.
Saturday afternoon: attend/give a reading at Blackwell's, then collect Ruth and her friend Linda and join a bunch of primarily PhD students at the Oxford Bar for free drinks, then go to the Book Festival and catch Nick inside the VIP tent, where we sip champagne and munch hors d'oeuvres involving shrimp, pâté, smoked salmon, and caviar before seeing the awards presentation for the James Tait Black Memorial Prize.
Saturday night: finish proofreading the dissertation and go to the Forest Cafe for promised strobe light goodness.
Sunday morning: read in church.
Sunday afternoon: proofread the third dissertation, then collect payment for the first (and the second, if I'm lucky!)
Sunday evening: potential drinks with the dwindling fourth floor crowd. We shall see...
And this just in (thanks, Ryan!): if you go to Amazon.co.uk and search for my name, you'll find this:
Friday afternoon: proofread a dissertation.
Friday night: go to the Peartree for celebratory drinks, see an amazing Fringe show involving little more than two Australian men in a state of rather flagrant dishabille, and return to the Peartree to tell the class (the girls, at least) all about it.
Saturday morning: proofread another dissertation.
Saturday afternoon: attend/give a reading at Blackwell's, then collect Ruth and her friend Linda and join a bunch of primarily PhD students at the Oxford Bar for free drinks, then go to the Book Festival and catch Nick inside the VIP tent, where we sip champagne and munch hors d'oeuvres involving shrimp, pâté, smoked salmon, and caviar before seeing the awards presentation for the James Tait Black Memorial Prize.
Saturday night: finish proofreading the dissertation and go to the Forest Cafe for promised strobe light goodness.
Sunday morning: read in church.
Sunday afternoon: proofread the third dissertation, then collect payment for the first (and the second, if I'm lucky!)
Sunday evening: potential drinks with the dwindling fourth floor crowd. We shall see...
And this just in (thanks, Ryan!): if you go to Amazon.co.uk and search for my name, you'll find this:
I'm on Amazon! And not just as a character in a bad romance novel!
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Even more Fringe-ing
Today marked my third serious Fringe show, and by "serious", I mean a performance that a) I had to pay to see, and b) involved neither Star Wars nor Scientology.
Being the ballet lover, Leigh suggested seeing Nijinsky's Last Dance, which turned out to be an excellent idea. I know virtually nothing about ballet, and knew nothing about Nijinsky until I skimmed the Wikipedia article, but this one-man show rightly deserves the stellar reviews it received; the actor is quite talented, and even if the hour-long tale of an insane Russian dancer fails to excite, the actor himself does an amazing job of it. Bless him, he spends a few minutes talking about posing for Rodin, and since this little job was originally done in the buff, the actor stays true to character by stripping. Between the flattering lighting, the light glow of sweat, and his beautifully sculpted body (we're talking Greek statue, here), our Nijinsky more than made up for the warm theater and the rude British people behind us.
Following this, I met Ella for a pre-hand-in celebratory dinner, but alas, our plans for Favorit nachos fell through, as Favorit, for unspecified reasons, is closed until further notice.
Bastards.
We decided to give Frankenstein's a try, and were pleasantly surprised with good nachos, fajitas, and two appearances of the monster. I had yet to see him before tonight, and I'll admit that it's something of a letdown. To be honest, the monsoon at Rainforest Cafe is more exciting than was the monster. Still, I can now leave Edinburgh in peace, having had my full Frankenstein's experience.
After dinner, I finally made it to the Counting House to see Chris McCausland's show, Planes, Trains & Shameful Ordeals. He's the UK's only blind comedian, and he's an absolute riot. Over the course of the hour, he described many of his misadventures, including a drunken night when he forgot his lighter at the bar, then tried to light his cigarette on a George Foreman and ended up with griddle marks on his face. He then tried to light it by standing on a stool and holding it to a 60-watt bulb, but was savagely attacked by a moth and would have fallen had he not grabbed the pull cord. Unfortunately, this cord was attached to a fan he hadn't realized he owned, and so he was beaten about the head by fan blades until he fell off, cigarette still cold. Smoking's bad for you, he cautions, but you're not going to see anyone mention those risks on the pack.
Being the ballet lover, Leigh suggested seeing Nijinsky's Last Dance, which turned out to be an excellent idea. I know virtually nothing about ballet, and knew nothing about Nijinsky until I skimmed the Wikipedia article, but this one-man show rightly deserves the stellar reviews it received; the actor is quite talented, and even if the hour-long tale of an insane Russian dancer fails to excite, the actor himself does an amazing job of it. Bless him, he spends a few minutes talking about posing for Rodin, and since this little job was originally done in the buff, the actor stays true to character by stripping. Between the flattering lighting, the light glow of sweat, and his beautifully sculpted body (we're talking Greek statue, here), our Nijinsky more than made up for the warm theater and the rude British people behind us.
Following this, I met Ella for a pre-hand-in celebratory dinner, but alas, our plans for Favorit nachos fell through, as Favorit, for unspecified reasons, is closed until further notice.
Bastards.
We decided to give Frankenstein's a try, and were pleasantly surprised with good nachos, fajitas, and two appearances of the monster. I had yet to see him before tonight, and I'll admit that it's something of a letdown. To be honest, the monsoon at Rainforest Cafe is more exciting than was the monster. Still, I can now leave Edinburgh in peace, having had my full Frankenstein's experience.
After dinner, I finally made it to the Counting House to see Chris McCausland's show, Planes, Trains & Shameful Ordeals. He's the UK's only blind comedian, and he's an absolute riot. Over the course of the hour, he described many of his misadventures, including a drunken night when he forgot his lighter at the bar, then tried to light his cigarette on a George Foreman and ended up with griddle marks on his face. He then tried to light it by standing on a stool and holding it to a 60-watt bulb, but was savagely attacked by a moth and would have fallen had he not grabbed the pull cord. Unfortunately, this cord was attached to a fan he hadn't realized he owned, and so he was beaten about the head by fan blades until he fell off, cigarette still cold. Smoking's bad for you, he cautions, but you're not going to see anyone mention those risks on the pack.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Not worth the £7.50
Several years ago, my friend Max and I, who really had little involvement in Yale theater outside talking to the theater people in the Glee Club, decided we would put on a musical. Not just any musical, no - we would be the very first people to stage the so-called "cursed" musical based on the works of H. P. Lovecraft, A Shoggoth on the Roof.
It's cursed because no one has ever been able to do it. No, Great Cthulu doesn't make a guest appearance and kill the cast with his tentacles the night before the show, though that might make for a better story. The truth is that the nice folks who retain the rights to Fiddler on the Roof won't let anyone perform Shoggoth because the music is exactly the same, albeit with Lovecraftian lyrics.
We assumed we could get around this without a legal team - how much harm could a couple of college students do, anyway? - but while I wrote to the Fiddler people to ask permission (Yale has this thing about intellectual property), my amazing Fellow, Eytan, actually paid for a copy of the book and the CD. He read it first, then told me, in so many words, that it's crap. Since Eytan knows quite a bit about scripts, I took his word for it, and the firm refusal from the Fiddler legal team sealed our doom. No Shoggoth for us, which, considering my directorial debut with A Child's Christmas in Wales and the Let's-strip-in-front-of-Dean-Salovey scene, was probably a good thing. The Shoggoth kit is now languishing in the back of my closet, just in case.
Eytan, I didn't think it was possible, but I've found something worse. Enter Xenu is Loose! Cower Puny Humans as the Dark Prince of the Galactic Federation Rains Atomic Death Once More Upon Your Pitiful Planet - The Musical!
I had such high hopes for this production, but it fell flat on its purple face. Xenu was great, campily evil with wrist blasters and platform boots, but the rest of the cast seemed plucked from a high school stage. They kept mumbling their dialogue, sent up blasts of feedback from their microphones, and seemed about as wooden as a log. Much of the music was provided by two guys in plainclothes who stood like bookends on either side of the stage, calmly playing their electric guitars while Xenu and crew shot at each other with laser blasters. One of the few good moments was a surprise visit from Tom Cruise, but Xenu dispatched him all too quickly. In all, this was a major disappointment, and made me reconsider our decision to scrap Shoggoth.
Max? Doing anything important?
It's cursed because no one has ever been able to do it. No, Great Cthulu doesn't make a guest appearance and kill the cast with his tentacles the night before the show, though that might make for a better story. The truth is that the nice folks who retain the rights to Fiddler on the Roof won't let anyone perform Shoggoth because the music is exactly the same, albeit with Lovecraftian lyrics.
We assumed we could get around this without a legal team - how much harm could a couple of college students do, anyway? - but while I wrote to the Fiddler people to ask permission (Yale has this thing about intellectual property), my amazing Fellow, Eytan, actually paid for a copy of the book and the CD. He read it first, then told me, in so many words, that it's crap. Since Eytan knows quite a bit about scripts, I took his word for it, and the firm refusal from the Fiddler legal team sealed our doom. No Shoggoth for us, which, considering my directorial debut with A Child's Christmas in Wales and the Let's-strip-in-front-of-Dean-Salovey scene, was probably a good thing. The Shoggoth kit is now languishing in the back of my closet, just in case.
Eytan, I didn't think it was possible, but I've found something worse. Enter Xenu is Loose! Cower Puny Humans as the Dark Prince of the Galactic Federation Rains Atomic Death Once More Upon Your Pitiful Planet - The Musical!
I had such high hopes for this production, but it fell flat on its purple face. Xenu was great, campily evil with wrist blasters and platform boots, but the rest of the cast seemed plucked from a high school stage. They kept mumbling their dialogue, sent up blasts of feedback from their microphones, and seemed about as wooden as a log. Much of the music was provided by two guys in plainclothes who stood like bookends on either side of the stage, calmly playing their electric guitars while Xenu and crew shot at each other with laser blasters. One of the few good moments was a surprise visit from Tom Cruise, but Xenu dispatched him all too quickly. In all, this was a major disappointment, and made me reconsider our decision to scrap Shoggoth.
Max? Doing anything important?
Monday, August 20, 2007
Weekend redux
It's been a few days, but it's been a mostly uneventful few days. I sang our duet in church for the second and final time, proofread three dissertations, and saw two shows. The first, Is He Funny?, isn't bad, but at least it's free. The other one I saw with Leigh and Ruth tonight, The Ballerina Who Loves B-Boyz. It's pretty entertaining, a fusion of breakdancing, ballet, and amazing Korean hairstyles. I've never seen so many Asians with dreadlocks, nor a guy with spiky bleached hair who could have stepped from Dragonball-Z. One guy had the most amazing abs I've ever seen short of a muscle magazine. The ballerinas cheated a bit, according to Leigh, but the truly popular female dancers of the show were the ho trio, three hot girls in skimpy clothing who shook things at the audience, garnering the unending support of the guy behind us. Afterwards, we went for drinks at the Living Room, where Ruth told me about the show I'm going to try to see tomorrow.
You know, I could see one of several versions of Macbeth or any number of legitimate plays, but this one is called Xenu is Loose! Cower Puny Human as the Dark Prince of the Galactic Federation Rains Atomic Death Once More Upon Your Pitiful Planet - The Musical! With a name like that, you know you have a winner, and at least one Cruise/Travolta joke.
It's got to have a better book than A Shoggoth on the Roof, at any rate.
You know, I could see one of several versions of Macbeth or any number of legitimate plays, but this one is called Xenu is Loose! Cower Puny Human as the Dark Prince of the Galactic Federation Rains Atomic Death Once More Upon Your Pitiful Planet - The Musical! With a name like that, you know you have a winner, and at least one Cruise/Travolta joke.
It's got to have a better book than A Shoggoth on the Roof, at any rate.
Friday, August 17, 2007
300th post
Huzzah! A new blog milestone.
And a first...
As I was walking home this evening, I happened to pass Blackwell's and noticed a peculiar window display, which I stopped and squealed over for a moment with a most indulgent Ella. Then I returned under cover of darkness and took these photographs:
And a first...
As I was walking home this evening, I happened to pass Blackwell's and noticed a peculiar window display, which I stopped and squealed over for a moment with a most indulgent Ella. Then I returned under cover of darkness and took these photographs:
Now, look at the poster close-up...
Yes! After five years of working on English-related degrees, I finally see my name in a bookstore window! And the names of a bunch of really cool people! On a book! (And there's a CD included, too, with the work of other really cool people on it! All for £10.99! I'd plug it, but Ryan seems to be doing a pretty good job of that.)
Wonders never cease.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Yet another use for Edinburgh churches
I've never seen so many unused churches as I have this year in Scotland. My own, tiny as it is, is actually the conglomeration of several congregations; I have no idea what became of the others, but something tells me their buildings, if they still stand, are being used as museums, theaters, cafes, or possibly nightclubs.
Yes, Faith, I'm glaring at you. Frankenstein's, as much as I love it, is bad enough, but calling a nightclub "Faith"? A stink was raised back home when one church wanted to sell its building to a Muslim community; I can only imagine what the protesters would say about this.
Anyway, possibly the strangest ex-church I've seen to date is the upstairs portion of the Forest, which I had heard existed but had not actually seen until last night. It looks like a cross between an abandoned building and Mardi Gras. Yes, the paint is peeling, the carpet is worn, and the windows are either boarded up or covered in tinfoil, but there are Christmas lights draped over the pulpit and a bar softly glowing in blue at the back of the room. One of the clocks in the balcony is still functional, and once you get on the stage, you realize the pipe organ is still up there. I've never tried to blend cabaret seating and church, nor would Billy Liar's punk set have flown were the building still being used for its intended purpose, but as performance spaces go, this one's unique.
With my final Golden Hour yesterday, it all really hit me that this is the beginning of the end. Our first floormate to leave departed in the afternoon. We have a last hurrah planned after the dissertations are handed in next Friday, and I'll be doing a final batch of proofreading for folks in the week leading up to it. My room is half-packed.
Twelve days left, and where did this year go?
Yes, Faith, I'm glaring at you. Frankenstein's, as much as I love it, is bad enough, but calling a nightclub "Faith"? A stink was raised back home when one church wanted to sell its building to a Muslim community; I can only imagine what the protesters would say about this.
Anyway, possibly the strangest ex-church I've seen to date is the upstairs portion of the Forest, which I had heard existed but had not actually seen until last night. It looks like a cross between an abandoned building and Mardi Gras. Yes, the paint is peeling, the carpet is worn, and the windows are either boarded up or covered in tinfoil, but there are Christmas lights draped over the pulpit and a bar softly glowing in blue at the back of the room. One of the clocks in the balcony is still functional, and once you get on the stage, you realize the pipe organ is still up there. I've never tried to blend cabaret seating and church, nor would Billy Liar's punk set have flown were the building still being used for its intended purpose, but as performance spaces go, this one's unique.
With my final Golden Hour yesterday, it all really hit me that this is the beginning of the end. Our first floormate to leave departed in the afternoon. We have a last hurrah planned after the dissertations are handed in next Friday, and I'll be doing a final batch of proofreading for folks in the week leading up to it. My room is half-packed.
Twelve days left, and where did this year go?
Monday, August 13, 2007
New venue
Seriously, everyone should visit Jekyll & Hyde on Hanover Street. If you think Frankenstein's is the way to go for interior decoration, this one'll be right up your alley, down to the bird skeletons in the cabinets. The bathroom's also less sketchy, always a draw at a fine drinking establishment.
I popped by tonight for two shows, "Free Pick of the Fringe" and "Rob Deb: Heroquest". The first was amazing - the emcee was a guy named Richard Coughlan, who's doing a show entitled "Honky-Hating Heterophobic Manwhore". He's white and straight. Go figure. Anyway, he started the show by asking where everyone was from, at which time I revealed that I am, in fact, American. He seemed delighted at this - he did a little dance - and told us that on the circuit, "easy target" is code for "American". He then asked which state I come from, and when I told him it was Alabama, he looked to the ceiling and yelled, "Thank you!"
Nice to be loved.
The four comedians in the set were great, but there's one guy, Chris McCausland, who's actually playing at the Counting House, so I'll try to pop by and see him. He's very funny, and he's also blind, but manages to do a show that doesn't revolve around putting himself down, which was pretty refreshing. There was also a fellow in the mix, whose name, unfortunately, escapes me, who did a great set on centaurs. I think you had to have been there...
The show that followed was also amusing, but in a geeky sort of way. He actually gauged his audience and left out a few bits that would have gone over nearly everyone's head, but I was proud of myself for getting the Granny Weatherwax joke. Thank you, Terry Pratchett, Margaret Hazel, and sophomore year.
I popped by tonight for two shows, "Free Pick of the Fringe" and "Rob Deb: Heroquest". The first was amazing - the emcee was a guy named Richard Coughlan, who's doing a show entitled "Honky-Hating Heterophobic Manwhore". He's white and straight. Go figure. Anyway, he started the show by asking where everyone was from, at which time I revealed that I am, in fact, American. He seemed delighted at this - he did a little dance - and told us that on the circuit, "easy target" is code for "American". He then asked which state I come from, and when I told him it was Alabama, he looked to the ceiling and yelled, "Thank you!"
Nice to be loved.
The four comedians in the set were great, but there's one guy, Chris McCausland, who's actually playing at the Counting House, so I'll try to pop by and see him. He's very funny, and he's also blind, but manages to do a show that doesn't revolve around putting himself down, which was pretty refreshing. There was also a fellow in the mix, whose name, unfortunately, escapes me, who did a great set on centaurs. I think you had to have been there...
The show that followed was also amusing, but in a geeky sort of way. He actually gauged his audience and left out a few bits that would have gone over nearly everyone's head, but I was proud of myself for getting the Granny Weatherwax joke. Thank you, Terry Pratchett, Margaret Hazel, and sophomore year.
Skip this show
I took in "Hello Kittens" this afternoon at the Counting House.
AWKWARD.
I'm sure the fellow has talent, but when the climax of one's show is removing one's shoes and doing a seal impression, something's not quite right...
AWKWARD.
I'm sure the fellow has talent, but when the climax of one's show is removing one's shoes and doing a seal impression, something's not quite right...
Sunday, August 12, 2007
It smarts
In my unending quest to Get Something for Nothing (what can I say, I've been in higher education for too long), I went back to the Counting House tonight for another free show and wandered into "Cowboys and Indians (Dot, not Feather)". All I can say is that I know that guy. Not the comedian, but the guy he was impersonating.
The premise of the show is that the comedian is a Texan recruiting folks for the Border Patrol, rather like Jeff Foxworthy, but with the IQ of your average redneck. He played on every bad American stereotype - the confusion of the Indians ("feather and dot", as he put it), the intolerance, the gun lust, the ignorance of world history and politics (his favorite ally is the country of NATO, for instance) - all with a deep Texas drawl.
I was a bit skeptical when I realized what this show was about, but I stuck around because it's important to be able to laugh at oneself, and because the show was free. It hurt because it's true. Seriously, I've met people like this stereotype. There was a guy in my sister's Sunday School class who believed that black people had a special weakness around their knees, and that they should be kicked there in a fight. Seriously. My postal clerk didn't know where Scotland was when I tried to express mail my forms last summer. I'm not saying I agree with his entire routine - for one, I do believe in border controls - but there was enough in his show to remind me of why the rest of the world seems to hate my country. Look, folks, just as all British aren't royalty/supervillains/Spice Girls, we're not all ignorant rednecks.
And another thing: there are just as many rednecks in New England as in the South. They just talk funny. Really, y'all, that's it.
The premise of the show is that the comedian is a Texan recruiting folks for the Border Patrol, rather like Jeff Foxworthy, but with the IQ of your average redneck. He played on every bad American stereotype - the confusion of the Indians ("feather and dot", as he put it), the intolerance, the gun lust, the ignorance of world history and politics (his favorite ally is the country of NATO, for instance) - all with a deep Texas drawl.
I was a bit skeptical when I realized what this show was about, but I stuck around because it's important to be able to laugh at oneself, and because the show was free. It hurt because it's true. Seriously, I've met people like this stereotype. There was a guy in my sister's Sunday School class who believed that black people had a special weakness around their knees, and that they should be kicked there in a fight. Seriously. My postal clerk didn't know where Scotland was when I tried to express mail my forms last summer. I'm not saying I agree with his entire routine - for one, I do believe in border controls - but there was enough in his show to remind me of why the rest of the world seems to hate my country. Look, folks, just as all British aren't royalty/supervillains/Spice Girls, we're not all ignorant rednecks.
And another thing: there are just as many rednecks in New England as in the South. They just talk funny. Really, y'all, that's it.
Free Fringe
While I stood outside the Half Price Hut, considering which show I wanted to see today, I was handed a flier for the Free Fringe.
This made my job substantially easier.
One of the venues is the Counting House, just next door to the Peartree, and they're running a show called "Want to Play Einstein and Gandhi?" at 2:30 every day. It's great for several reasons:
1) It's free.
2) It's funny.
3) It's close to my building.
4) The guy hands out free candy midway through the performance.
While I'd like to see the show that gives you a shot of absinthe as you walk in, you really can't beat a free show and complimentary marshmallows, can you?
This made my job substantially easier.
One of the venues is the Counting House, just next door to the Peartree, and they're running a show called "Want to Play Einstein and Gandhi?" at 2:30 every day. It's great for several reasons:
1) It's free.
2) It's funny.
3) It's close to my building.
4) The guy hands out free candy midway through the performance.
While I'd like to see the show that gives you a shot of absinthe as you walk in, you really can't beat a free show and complimentary marshmallows, can you?
Saturday, August 11, 2007
Being quasi-productive
Today, I decided last night, would be the day. After having received my advisor's blessing, I was primed to print my dissertation, get it bound, hand it in, and generally get this monkey off my back.
Of course, this being Edinburgh, it decided to rain this morning, meaning that I had to think long and hard about going to EBS for higher-grade laser paper. Seeing as I was already damp from running to the laundry room, I sucked it up and returned with a 500 pack, then began the process of coaxing my Lexmark to spit out a copy of my dissertation.
Did I mention that said dissertation is 117 pages long? Since formatting guidelines stipulate double spacing and single-sided pages, my project is nearly an inch thick on high-grade paper.
Anyway, having printed the first copy without running out of ink, I sat down with a red pen for the final round of corrections. I ended up reprinting some 25 pages, then printed the entire thing again during dinner.
Dissertationed-out, I braved the Fringe crowds and trekked to Princes Street to get a ticket for One-Man Star Wars Trilogy, which is really excellent. If you like the movies at all, the show's a riot. Best lines:
Luke: Why didn't you tell me?!?
Ben: I forgot...
The fact that his Jabba impression is using his forearms as massive lips is amazing. The fact that he also does a one-man Lord of the Rings, which he's currently not allowed to tour, rocks my world. Please, someone, give this man the necessary permissions. I want to see him do the Fellowship!
Anyway, I'll think about getting my project bound on Monday, or whenever Alan sends around the final guidelines for the title page. If anyone needs roughly 200 sheets of high-grade paper, let me know...
Of course, this being Edinburgh, it decided to rain this morning, meaning that I had to think long and hard about going to EBS for higher-grade laser paper. Seeing as I was already damp from running to the laundry room, I sucked it up and returned with a 500 pack, then began the process of coaxing my Lexmark to spit out a copy of my dissertation.
Did I mention that said dissertation is 117 pages long? Since formatting guidelines stipulate double spacing and single-sided pages, my project is nearly an inch thick on high-grade paper.
Anyway, having printed the first copy without running out of ink, I sat down with a red pen for the final round of corrections. I ended up reprinting some 25 pages, then printed the entire thing again during dinner.
Dissertationed-out, I braved the Fringe crowds and trekked to Princes Street to get a ticket for One-Man Star Wars Trilogy, which is really excellent. If you like the movies at all, the show's a riot. Best lines:
Luke: Why didn't you tell me?!?
Ben: I forgot...
The fact that his Jabba impression is using his forearms as massive lips is amazing. The fact that he also does a one-man Lord of the Rings, which he's currently not allowed to tour, rocks my world. Please, someone, give this man the necessary permissions. I want to see him do the Fellowship!
Anyway, I'll think about getting my project bound on Monday, or whenever Alan sends around the final guidelines for the title page. If anyone needs roughly 200 sheets of high-grade paper, let me know...
Friday, August 10, 2007
Solo again
I said goodbye to my parents (and half my closet) at the airport this morning after a whirlwind two weeks of braving the Royal Mile and the freaky thespians trying to induce me to take their fliers. Strange to be walking back, passing the Radisson, and realizing I had no reason to darken their doorway again, unless I wanted tapas at Itchykoo (which is, incidentally, very good). With my parents gone, I've lost access to an oversized bed with a great mattress, which was perfect for lounging upon when watching their room television, which actually had channels. They complained about the programming, but when you've spent the year with 4.5 channels, Sky and full Channel Five are heaven. I actually watched House and Law & Order for the first time in months. House has a dog? Wilson's divorced? I've missed so much...
Also, GMTV, your new Friday segment with Elvis sing-alongs and Star Trek fan movies is abysmal. Please fire the producer, posthaste.
As I, too, will be on a westbound plane in 18 days, the time has come for me to do everything I've liked/forgotten/put off once more before I head home. Topping the list is printing the dissertation, which will be an almighty pain, but I'm also planning to hit up some Fringe shows and buy teaspoons. My mother wants cute British teaspoons, as they actually sit nicely on a saucer. Since there was no way in hell another thing was going to fit in their four suitcases (two of which were my fault), I'm to carry home the goods at the end of the month. It's off to John Lewis this afternoon, but only after I hit up Tesco. After two weeks of eating out, my larder is a tad on the empty side.
Also, GMTV, your new Friday segment with Elvis sing-alongs and Star Trek fan movies is abysmal. Please fire the producer, posthaste.
As I, too, will be on a westbound plane in 18 days, the time has come for me to do everything I've liked/forgotten/put off once more before I head home. Topping the list is printing the dissertation, which will be an almighty pain, but I'm also planning to hit up some Fringe shows and buy teaspoons. My mother wants cute British teaspoons, as they actually sit nicely on a saucer. Since there was no way in hell another thing was going to fit in their four suitcases (two of which were my fault), I'm to carry home the goods at the end of the month. It's off to John Lewis this afternoon, but only after I hit up Tesco. After two weeks of eating out, my larder is a tad on the empty side.
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
Monday and Tuesday
Winding up our whirlwind tour of Scottish tourist attractions, my folks and I headed for Stirling yesterday, where we saw the seventh castle/palace of the last two weeks.
Seven? Why, yes: Edinburgh, Holyrood, Glamis, Inverness (rebuilt), Urquhart (ruins), St. Andrews (also ruins), and Stirling, which is much like Edinburgh in miniature with an enormous great hall tacked on and painted yellow. It's great.
While it rained for much of the morning in Stirling and my parents, for some odd reason, saw no need to climb the Wallace Monument (could have been an after-effect of my making them climb Arthur's Seat and walk to Duddingston twice), we still had a nice time touring the castle and the Church of the Holy Rude ("Holy Cross", to those who didn't take Old English), and survived two trips with an insane bus driver who bore a strong resemblance to Chris Farley.
Today, we hit Rosslyn Chapel, which is well worth a look - it's only half an hour away on the 15 bus, and student admission's only £6. Anurag had warned me that the chapel's exterior is covered by a new roof, but this seeming detraction is actually a mixed blessing, as the walkway around the inside gives visitors an up-close look at the carvings on the spires. People, this place is gorgeous, tiny by church standards but covered with enough carvings to keep you happy for at least a good two hours. Between dodging DaVinci Code fans and trying to spot Jesus by the baptistery, we passed a pleasant morning, then returned to Edinburgh in time for Miss Julie, a Fringe play put on by a small cast from Birmingham Southern. I'm not just saying this because they're from BSC, but they did an excellent job, and they're only here through Saturday, so if you'd like to see Strindberg Southern-style, hop down to C Soco on Chambers Street at 5:15 some afternoon and take a look.
Seven? Why, yes: Edinburgh, Holyrood, Glamis, Inverness (rebuilt), Urquhart (ruins), St. Andrews (also ruins), and Stirling, which is much like Edinburgh in miniature with an enormous great hall tacked on and painted yellow. It's great.
While it rained for much of the morning in Stirling and my parents, for some odd reason, saw no need to climb the Wallace Monument (could have been an after-effect of my making them climb Arthur's Seat and walk to Duddingston twice), we still had a nice time touring the castle and the Church of the Holy Rude ("Holy Cross", to those who didn't take Old English), and survived two trips with an insane bus driver who bore a strong resemblance to Chris Farley.
Today, we hit Rosslyn Chapel, which is well worth a look - it's only half an hour away on the 15 bus, and student admission's only £6. Anurag had warned me that the chapel's exterior is covered by a new roof, but this seeming detraction is actually a mixed blessing, as the walkway around the inside gives visitors an up-close look at the carvings on the spires. People, this place is gorgeous, tiny by church standards but covered with enough carvings to keep you happy for at least a good two hours. Between dodging DaVinci Code fans and trying to spot Jesus by the baptistery, we passed a pleasant morning, then returned to Edinburgh in time for Miss Julie, a Fringe play put on by a small cast from Birmingham Southern. I'm not just saying this because they're from BSC, but they did an excellent job, and they're only here through Saturday, so if you'd like to see Strindberg Southern-style, hop down to C Soco on Chambers Street at 5:15 some afternoon and take a look.
Sunday, August 05, 2007
And the rain returns
I knew it. It was too good to be true.
After a week of nearly perfect weather, the rain returned in full today, making my parents and me quite grateful that we tackled Arthur's Seat yesterday. Regrettably, today was our day in St. Andrews, and with the rain and the ladies' golf, after three hours, my parents had seen all they wanted to see, so we caught a train back to town. Coming and going by taxi from Leuchars, I had to laugh; Mom and Dad's comprehension of the brogue is a bit on the shaky side, and our first driver, who didn't realize that they could barely understand him, tried to do an American accent and pulled out the worst I've heard to date. I love linguistic follies.
Back in Edinburgh, Mom and I did a little shopping. Guys, I'm now the proud owner of a sword. A rapier, to be exact.
It's not a combat weapon - those cost about four times as much as mine did - but it's lovely and will look great on the wall of my future apartment. The clerk told me I should do a Google search and find someone near me to teach me proper sword technique, though if I actually were to spar, I'd need a more substantial blade. Still, it's being shipped home, it's sharp and shiny, and I have a feeling I'm going to be the only single woman in the greater Birmingham area with a Scottish weapon on her wall.
After a week of nearly perfect weather, the rain returned in full today, making my parents and me quite grateful that we tackled Arthur's Seat yesterday. Regrettably, today was our day in St. Andrews, and with the rain and the ladies' golf, after three hours, my parents had seen all they wanted to see, so we caught a train back to town. Coming and going by taxi from Leuchars, I had to laugh; Mom and Dad's comprehension of the brogue is a bit on the shaky side, and our first driver, who didn't realize that they could barely understand him, tried to do an American accent and pulled out the worst I've heard to date. I love linguistic follies.
Back in Edinburgh, Mom and I did a little shopping. Guys, I'm now the proud owner of a sword. A rapier, to be exact.
It's not a combat weapon - those cost about four times as much as mine did - but it's lovely and will look great on the wall of my future apartment. The clerk told me I should do a Google search and find someone near me to teach me proper sword technique, though if I actually were to spar, I'd need a more substantial blade. Still, it's being shipped home, it's sharp and shiny, and I have a feeling I'm going to be the only single woman in the greater Birmingham area with a Scottish weapon on her wall.
Friday, August 03, 2007
Tattoo!
Last night was the preview show for the Edinburgh Military Tattoo. Excellent performance all around, even with the press scurrying around the esplanade, trying to stay out of the way of the goose-stepping Russians.
Yes, Russians. With a dancing guy in a bear suit.
We were treated to a multicultural extravaganza. First came the requisite pipe band, followed by Taiwanese majorettes, a fife and drum band from Massachusetts in full Revolutionary War-era getup, the aforementioned dancing Russian band, the world's only military steel drum band - from Trinidad and Tobago - and amazing limbo dancers, highland dancers, the mounted dragoon band, and a cover group on "Amarillo". The final songs of the evening included an audience sing-along to "Auld Lang Syne", hand holding and all, and "God Save the Queen", which was particularly interesting with a certain oversized flag in the middle of the parade grounds...
Thursday, August 02, 2007
Loch Ness, Round 2
I took my parents to Loch Ness yesterday, to see Inverness and to do the Jacobite "Temptation" tour. I'm not so sure what's tempting about the bus ride/loch cruise/castle visit, but hey, it's marketing.We had the usual three-hour bus ride to Inverness, followed by a brief lunch (sadly, The Mustard Seed was booked up), and then we did our cruise, including a send-off by a truly atrocious piper. I'll give it this: Loch Ness is much more pleasant when it's not raining and forty degrees outside. True, we got pummeled with spray every time the bow hit a swell, and I was wearing the same coat I wore in my last batch of Inverness pictures, but not having to wear gloves was an obvious plus. Also, Inverness is a much more lively place in August than in November. For one, things are actually open and running.
After the tour, we grabbed dinner and took the bus back to Edinburgh, planning for a nice lie-in this morning. Well, I hope my parents got to sleep in; I desperately needed clean socks.
What's been most striking to me while touring with my folks is how everything I've come to take for granted is still new and bizarre to them. Busses are the way to go, and they're not always comfortable. The M9/A9 is usually two-lane. Stores close by 6 PM. Prices are ridiculous when converted to dollars. Ketchup sometimes comes in tubes instead of the rectangular sachets we have back in the States. Brown sauce and salad cream abound. High Street fashion generally sucks and the morning presenter on GMTV dresses like a twenty-something. You may not be able to find a camera shop, but there's definitely an Indian takeaway place down the block. You know, the usual.
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