Hard Drive, Kilt, and Employment

My fellows, I have been so long absent from you! Dreadful happenings last week - dreadful!

If you have ever lost a computer to hard drive failure, you will already anticipate the grief and horror of the tale I shall shortly spin. It all began Tuesday, a day like any other - but what terror was in store, I hardly knew then! Just before my art history lecture I checked my email with Apple's 'Mail' application, where I've synced all three of my email accounts together. To my sudden shock, it displayed no emails and asked me to proceed through 'set up' so that I could 'get started using Mail.' As I had already been using Mail since 2008, I felt this message ominous. I tried to set it all back up, but the more I tried, the more the program lagged, and soon I knew that some evil was brewing deep in my macbook.

By Wednesday the computer screen would suddenly go gray and declare: "YOU MUST SHUT DOWN YOUR MACBOOK NOW," giving me no say at all in the matter, and forever blasting 500 words or so of an essay into the ether, never again to be reclaimed by mine or Microsoft Word's memory. So I called AppleCare in the US and after telling them I can't understand their jargon, the guy plays it straight with me and basically said: "Imagine your computer is a human, and every time you have to restart it is like a stroke, and you can keep reviving it by restarting, but every time it comes back to life it's a little more brain damaged." So that sounded bad.

Luckily a friend who had a computer problem earlier recommended an independent PC/Mac repair shop, and four days later my macbook is fixed, my hard drive brand new, all of my information restored, and my operating system upgraded to Snow Leopard from just plain old Leopard (whatever that means).

But how did the absence of my beloved electronic ball-and-chain affect me from Thursday to Monday? Well, for one thing, it induced a lot of drinking - not from despair, but rather from lack of other things to do. Now, before you say, "But you're abroad, go! travel! experience Scotland," I will remind of my various adventures, and also that I am quite capable of entertaining myself for most any amount of time with a Stevenson novel or Shakespearean play. But after going to classes and reading all day, what was to fill the nights but raucous carousal bereft of any intellectual benefit?

Thursday, after all, was the Kickboxing Ball. The team had rented out a nightclub and prepared a three-course meal, a Ceilidh band (traditional scottish folk band) you do kinds of line-dances to, and a DJ for afterwards. It was very formal - black tie, &c - and I was going to rent a tux when it hit me: Breezy, you are in Scotland! Duh, you NEED to hire a kilt ('To hire,' by the way, means 'to rent' over here). So I got measured for the kilt and fancy jacket and everything last week, and picked it up Tuesday. As a brief aside, I must relate that, to my great surprise, I somehow managed to get BANNED from a men's formalwear store. In summary, I didn't want to buy the $20 bow tie from the kilt hiring place, so I went comparison shopping. After no luck at all, the last place I checked finally had a black formal bow tie like the kind I needed, but this one was $30! Weary and dismayed, I asked the guy if he was serious that the little black tie was actually $30, and he threw it at the wall and told me to "Get the f*** out!" Amazed that I had elicited such a response from this man, I just turned around and began to walk out. He then yelled after me into the street that I was "barred" from ever coming back, ever. Who gets banned from a bow tie store?

I tell you, I am thoroughly surprised at the extent to which Americans perceive kilts as a silly cultural stereotype. They are, in fact, quite in fashion and very publicly acceptable. It is no cause for surprise if you sight a man walking down the street in his tartan and high socks. Don't get it into your head that everyone dresses like this - hardly one out of a hundred men on the street, probably less - but when you see a man in a kilt it is no occasion for gawking or eyebrow-raising.

That said, I was excited to wear mine; and what an experience! I have to say, I couldn't keep a straight face for about thirty minutes after I put it all on, but in the end I quite approved! It comes with a little dagger you stick in your sock (just ceremonial, but I was told it's to stab people with who call the kilt a skirt), little ribbony things called 'flashes' that go on your socks, and a kind of handbag (the manliest kind possible - mine was made of sealskin) called a 'sporran' - because where are you supposed to put your keys and wallet? The kilt is good for dancing - well ventilated, of course, and allowing for ample bandy-legged movement to and fro the dance floor.

As you may imagine, I needed a number of gin and tonics in order to take myself seriously, and it was a smashing night all around!

Fridays I have no class, so I slept in and, having no laptop with which to work on my essays, just did some reading. At 6pm I had a phone interview with Northfield Mount Hermon - a private boarding school in Western Massachusetts - about a job teaching there this summer, and after thirty-five minutes I was offered the job on the phone! Taft and Choate Rosemary Hall, with which I interviewed over a month ago, have yet to get back to me, but assure me that "My candidacy is still viable." So I'll most likely accept the NMH position, teaching Academic Writing and College Prep Public Speaking, if I don't hear from Taft or Choate by tomorrow, just to weigh my options. Regardless, I'm very excited. I'll be teaching alongside a professional teaching in the AM, and totally on my own in the PM - both frightening and compelling.

Come 8:30, I cracked open the Bombay and Schweppes once more to begin another great night out. Pub crawled for a while and ended up at an underground club with seven levels called Espionage, where I was mistaken for a man named David from Bristol by a very pretty girl until, to my dismay, she informed me of her error in recognition.

Saturday was slightly cultural, as I attended a performance of King Richard III at Edinburgh's King's Theater. I must say, however, that I'm unsure of what exactly I should make of the interpretation. The little princes' heads were displayed in a glass jar on stage, Buckingham got murdered with a chainsaw, King Edward made everyone drink blood after vomiting all over an attendant, there was a monologue after the intermission sung like a punk song to a minstrel with an electric guitar, and there were all these nameless characters wearing gas-masks on stage for most of the play, saying nothing and doing little, sometimes walking through the audience - very creepy.

Saturday night was back to the pubs and clubs. Met a bunch of Irish guys who were challenging everyone to pint-chugging (I didn't indulge, as they were three times my size). Met some people from Aberdeen who go to Napier (another Uni in Edinburgh), and slept for most of Sunday.

Today was good. Got the computer back, heard a lecture on T.S. Eliot and then another on Erotic Art in the Italian Renaissance (lot's of Venus' and Marys in weird positions...). I bought a book Saturday by an Oxford scholar John Carey. All about how a lot of canonized authors at the turn of the 20th Century - H.G. Wells, Virginia Woolf, D.H. Lawrence, T.S. Eliot, George Bernard Shaw, Ezra Pound - were all very influenced by Nietzsche and about the gulf that formed between the literary-intellectual elite and the only partially educated, lower-working class 'Mass.' A lot of these celebrated authors had written extensively on how to deal with, and often how to 'get rid of' or 'dispose of' the Masses. I haven't gotten to the end yet, but apparently a lot of their ideas were carried out during WWII, during and after which they all realized that disposing of masses of people was a pretty bad idea. Very interesting to see the struggle between the 'intellectuals' and the 'masses,' especially from the point of view of a student studying these authors. Probably sounds horribly dry to 90% of you reading this.

Well I'm going to turn in. Got an early day tomorrow....I have one class, at 5pm - 6pm. It's only because my usual 2pm - 4pm class was cancelled. So I have the day to read, write, and maybe just walk around the city.

This weekend I'm going to the Argyll Forest for three days/two nights through a trip planned by my exchange program. The hostel we are staying in a Castle, literally. A weekend of hiking, canoeing, &c &c. Pictures and stories to follow, I'm sure.

An American's Perspective on the UK

Having been in Edinburgh for roughly fifty days at this point, and having lived with an English family for a few as well, I have formed the rudiments of some opinion as to the national character and culture of the United Kingdom.

The UK is a completely different animal than the United States - my only real point of reference or comparison, in any case. England (~50 million people) acts as the chief constituent of the UK, accompanied by Scotland (~5 mil), Wales (~2.9 mil), and Northern Ireland (~1.7 mil). It is chief not only in terms of population but political leadership, as well, controlling, for instance, the entire treasury of the UK and collecting and redistributing its taxes back to the English, Scottish, Welsh, and Northern Irish. The three lesser-populated constituents of the UK may feed, dress, and clean themselves, but it happens that they still must look to England for their allowance.

It should be noted, however, that two of the UK's recent prime ministers down in foggy London town have been Scottish - Blair and Brown, I believe. Additionally, because Scotland doesn’t have an independent treasury, it becomes England’s added responsibility to provide free healthcare and public services for Scots. Whereas English students have to pay tuition to attend English universities, a Scottish student’s tuition at a Scottish school is totally subsidized by the government.

As a matter of nationalism or patriotism, views vary and conflict. As one Scot told me, in general, "Patriotism doesn't make sense. Pride in an affiliation you weren't given the opportunity to pick is crazy." He has a point. I am proud my affiliation with Franklin and Marshall because I applied and got accepted. Can one feel the same kind of pride for belonging to a country that he neither selects nor is selected by? In general terms, I'd say, "Yes," because it is perhaps what we learn and experience in our countries that makes us proud (or not) to live in them.

Regardless, the general opinion of England that I have gathered from my time with the Scottish is one not of enmity but surely latent annoyance in the least. The country is certainly a free one, yet lorded over by another organizationally. Imagine how the rest of the United States would feel if New England assumed Washington D.C.'s powers and the states within in it suddenly enjoyed greater benefits and privileges than the others, not to mention a sense of primacy.

I have heard the English, as well, describe their relation to the rest of the UK's nations in terms of ownership. "We own Wales and the rest, they just don't know it." Now I can’t endorse this personally, having no stake in it, and the fellow that said it was likely being 'cheeky' with me. Still, I think that it is a sentiment that is generally popular in England regardless.

On the other hand, upon saying that two Scottish natives had 'British accents,' I provoked a laugh which caused one to comment to the other, "Haha he called us British." This perhaps is simply patriotism. It is a fact, after all, that Scotland is part of Great Britain, as much as Wales or England is. All states in America being equally endowed and governed by an independent District of Columbia, it would of course seem absurd for me to balk at being called 'American' instead of 'New English,' or else whatever the word is for a person born in Massachusetts. My nativity to the Bay State and my residence in that of the Garden doesn't compromise or influence my inclusion as 'American.'

This phenomenon is not unique to the UK, certainly. America has its fair share of regional and geographical groupings as well - Northeast, New England, Midwest, 'North,' 'South,' &c - yet I could not imagine a man from Maine disliking a man from Colorado simply on geographic principles. Things like politics, religion, race, and economy may certainly cause those kinds of divides within the States, but - according my still-limited experience - I feel as if region of birth is more defining in the UK. Also, this must not be too exaggerated. The most intense reaction I've ever seen two UK natives give each other upon hearing they come from opposed places (England/Scotland, or even internally, Edinburgh/Glasgow) is friendly rivalry. Go to a football match when England's playing Scotland and I'm sure you see examples more intense.

Another quirk I've noticed is that being over here makes it seem like a small world. I have lost track of how many people I've met that know students at tiny F&M, and how many people know friends I have at other colleges. However, if you think about it by the numbers, most of these mutual friends occur at small liberal arts colleges scattered around PA, NY, MA, CT, NJ, and occasionally MD. Add up the number of students in that relatively tiny region, and then take the number of students from there that study abroad, and it is not surprising that a girl from South Jersey who goes to Gettysburg knows my friend at F&M from Central Jersey. Small world, or small pool?

I also figured that I should explain something about the word "Edinburgh' to anyone reading this. It is a word that I have found defies pronunciation, not only to those around the world, and not only to Americans, but even varies distinctly between Scots you meet depending on how many half-miles apart they grew up. The pronunciation defies spelling, as well. The Oxford English Dictionary spells it, roughly, "Edn'bere." I'd say my understanding of the sound comes to "Eh-din-Buh-ruh," or sometimes "Eh-din-Brah." Regardless, I've never once been told I have pronounced it correctly, and most times its easier just to slur what you're saying. So if you're talking to a Scot, don't say "EE-din-berg" or "Eh-din-berg." There's no 'g' sound to be heard.

Missed Midsummer Night's Dream last night - just forgot to go. So I bought it on iTunes and watched it with Michelle Pfeiffer and Kevin Kline (there's a very questionable mud-wrestling scene included that I'm not sure the Bard intended). Started one of my two remaining papers today. No trips planned upcoming but you never know.

A Good Week

Hello all.

Coast along St. Andrews

It's been a fairly good week. Got together with a few friends on Monday (V-Day) and made dinner. Nothing crazy or romantic, but fun. I still have no solid opinion on Valentine's Day one way or the other. On one hand, it is logical that the 'holiday' is only fun if you have a significant other. Right? Otherwise you are left alone on a holiday dedicated to the celebration of Love and the appreciation of your loved one. However, being single has its perks. After all, clucking young maids may fawn over the charming fellow that takes his girl out to dinner, dresses up nice, does the whole rose petals/champagne/chocolate-covered-strawberries deal, but in the end...who really wins? Not his checkbook. So the choice is similar to many we all must make with regards not only to Valentine's Day, but other occasions which basically involved the same extravagance: a good time or some extra cash?

From my weekend in the Lake District

So that was Monday. I had written an Art History paper on Sunday, and this week I started one for my English class. I have another two to write that will hopefully get done by the end of next week. They aren't due until the second week of March, but, the way I see it, they are literally the only work I have to do for all of my classes, so having that out of the way asap will mean that March will be a great month.

18th Hole, Old Course, St Andrews

Got a 72 on my first essay for my Scottish Lit course. I almost choked when I saw the grade, but once I looked at the conversion scale for UK to US grades, I was set at ease. A 72 is, apparently, 'excellent.' So that was reassuring. The thing is, UK schools grade 'up,' aka give you points for things you do correctly, whereas US schools take off for things you do wrong, or grade 'down.' Or the US just has horrible grade inflation. We also pay for our education, so I guess one could argue that we might as well get some fringe benefit grade inflation out of the deal.

St Andrews Castle, Coastal Ruins

Tuesday was a friend's 18th birthday, which is like a 21st in the States. So we all had a good time and hit the town. Not much to say for Wednesday, truthfully. Only one lecture, and then kickboxing. Thursday was productive with three classes and a night out, and today I finished my English essay and saw The King's Speech. Good flick. Thought it ended rather abruptly, personally, but if you think about it I guess it ended appropriately. Might skip seeing The Fighter. I've heard it is very good, but I've already seen Cinderella Man.

Coast at St. Andrews

This weekend doesn't have any trips planned, but on Saturday night I'm seeing A Midsummer's Night Dream performed. Haven't read it, actually, but may do so tomorrow before I go. Might bite the bullet this weekend and write those essays so I can do as I wish without the pressure of impending deadlines. Next weekend I'm seeing Richard III performed, too - so it will be a Shakespearean fortnight. Not much else going on right now. Can't wait for baseball to start up. As far as that rugby match goes, Mick, if you'd like to wire me $77 I'll gladly attend. Otherwise I'd rather buy groceries for a week.

Hope all is well with everyone!

The Birthplace of Golf

Well, if you know anything about the history of golf, you'll know just by reading the title that I visited St. Andrews this weekend.

What a day! Schuyler, Karrin, Taylor, and myself (from left to right), got on a bus at 9:40am - we missed the 8:40 bus bus by one minute - and were at St. Andrews a bit before noon. The place itself is a rather small town (don't think city) and was the first royal 'burgh' in all of Scotland. It also holds the fame of being, allegedly, the part of the coast where the ship carrying St. Andrew's bones from Greece ran ashore in its flight from the Mediterranean. Thus its name. The burgh now contains the ruins of a massive cathedral which is mostly overgrown and used as a graveyard, the ruins of a castle, a great golf course, and long swathes of misty shoreline that stretch out on either end in long, dramatic curves. As I've said before, it's so rainy here that every inch of dirt is covered in some kind of greenery, and much of the hillside along the coast is covered in this wonderful windswept kind of tall grass. The normal grass isn't what we;re used to in the States, either - more of a naturally short, scrubby kind. Good for putting on, I'm sure.

The town itself is basically a trio of streets that begin set apart but slowly converge as they near the cathedral, dotted with cafes, shops, and flats. If you head the opposite direction from the cathedral, towards the golf course, a lot of pro shops start popping up everywhere. The cathedral itself was very interesting. We stopped there first. Only the front, back, and part of a side of the main hall still remain, so that the entire structure kind of looks like a broken bed frame with no mattress. At points along the ground within the ruins plaques lay, telling what would have stood there in the past (pulpit, nave, rooms, &c). It's pretty strange to saunter around a place where hundreds of people came together over the course of hundreds of years to pray, when all that remains is ruined. Large circular stone formations that stop just above ankle height were placed here and there, probably where great pillars had once stretched to the vaulted stone ceiling, and every so often I would see a long, low wall running fifty yards in one direction, with none of its original structure remaining besides. It felt very 'Tintern Abbey.'

After the cathedral grounds we moved on along a walkway by the shore that continued into a long sea-wall that formed the third wall of what once have must been a harbor. It's where the picture of us is taken above. The scenery was very natural there - long grassy coast arching away into the foggy distance. We met some people who go to Notre Dame in the States studying in London and chatted, then moved on. A lot of Americans in St. Andrews, studying and visiting both. The entire place feels very old, older in some respects than Edinburgh does to me. It also felt very 'Local Hero,' if anyone's seen that movie (I know you have, Pops).

From the pier we walked along the coast to the castle, where we walked around the ruins and took some pictures. The castle was mostly gone, but some large parts remained at the gate and towers. At some point the castle had been besieged and mined under by enemies attempting to blow up the walls from underneath with gunpowder, but a counter-mine was dug out by men from within the walls and the effort thwarted. The mine is still open today and we took a walk/crawl through it. Very creepy, in a way. Apparently John Knox, whose home I've seen in Edinburgh, lived at the castle for a time during the siege, and was sent to his death when the castle was conquered.

We followed our castle tour with some late lunch, and then took the golf course by storm, literally. I had made a promise to a friend, Mike Cascio, before leaving F&M that I would take a picture on the historic Swilken Bridge wearing our fraternity's letters, and now, come all this way, I wasn't about to pass it by! Lucky for me, the brodge is only about seventy feet from the sidewalk on the 18th hole, so it wasn't very hard to find. It wasn't exactly open for tours, either. So I looked around and saw two guys playing through, and thought "hm...if I were them, would I mind someone running on to the course like a madman to take a bridge on the bridge that pretty much lies in the middle of the course?" So I instantly thought "nah" and hopped the stone wall with a friend, sprinting madly across the lawn to the bridge, where my companion snapped a few pictures of me. So now what do I have in common with Jack Nicklaus? I think the answer is obvious: aside from great style, we've both gone one-leg-up on the Swilken Bridge. Got a little Captain in you, Jack?

We walked across the course (via pathway this time) and went over to a long beach that seemed to go on forever until it got swallowed up by the mist. As we walked on and on it didn't even seem like we were moving ahead, with identical ocean to our right and identical dune to our left. At one point I looked back at the town just after the sun had dipped away and it really was a sight, above the water, tower rising up above the dark city, tiny lights made blurry by the fog. Looked like the cover to a Dickens novel or something.

After a while we turned back to head home, and that night I was so tired that I decided not to go out after all. So I watched the rest of American Gangster - "That's a $25,000 al paca rug! You blot that s**t, you don't rub a stain out of a $25,000 al paca rug" - and went to bed.

Today was productive overall, as well. Despite waking up at noon, I managed to write two thousand words about Robert Campin's three-panel Merode Altarpiece. It was a pretty strange experience, as I'm used to writing almost entirely for English classes. Usually I would feel wrong if I was not backing up everything I wrote with a quote or two from the text I was working with. My professor however, just told me that I should use two quotes maximum, and just reference other scholarship in footnotes without actual quotation if I needed to. I'm still curious as to how my essay gets graded, so we'll see if there's a latent art historian in me.

Right: St. Andrews castle above the beach.

I was only so proactive today (the essay isn't due for two and a half weeks) because I have four essays due in March, and three of them within the first eight or nine days. After they are past (and hopefully passed, as well) I'll only have to worry about my two exams in May, after my spring break! I'm enjoying my classes for the most part. The art history can get a bit dry. Tomorrow we're covering R.L. Stevenson in lecture, so I'm down for that.

It's Six Nations time here in Europe, which probably means nothing to 97% of Americans reading this. Six Nations is the international rugby tournament between Italy, France, Ireland, Wales, England, and Scotland. Scotland's field is right in Edinburgh, so I may go to see the Scotland-Ireland match.

Jaunts

Wednesday already! The week's fulcrum - a time to recollect and look ahead.

Last Saturday I went to the "Scotch Whisky Experience" in Edinburgh, which boasts the world's largest collection of whiskies. I believe it. After going on an informative ride through a model whisky-distillery (seated in a big whisky barrel on a track!), myself and a friend got to learn about the four kinds of scotch whisky and then taste one. I was skeptical to begin with but at the end I was confident I could taste differences and distinguish region from region.

We invested in a bottle of single malt after fifteen minutes of careful comparisons in the whisky shop, only to later find out that we had bought the wrong kind...but still, it was whisky, so we were happy with what we got.

After the whisky tasting we parted ways and I began to walk home when something caught my eye. It was down an alleyway, over which a plaque was affixed stating: Herevpon lieth the howse of Robert Burns in Year XCVCXCI (<---made up number) and somesvch business, &c &c. So I was intrigued. I turned down the alleyway (they call them 'closes' here) and after a few steps emerged into a courtyard, with a building to my front bearing a black sign proclaiming it to be the Writers Museum of Edinburgh. Pretty cool, thought I.

So I went inside for a look around. Not a huge place, but the admission was free, and they had some nice collections of things from Robert Louis Stevenson, Walter Scott, and Robert Burns. I spent the most time pouring over the Stevenson exhibit - probably twenty minutes. The only annoying thing was a voice recording they had on repeat, which read out part of a chapter from Treasure Island. But the recording was only four or five minutes long, so as I was trying to enjoy the exhibit this creepy voice kept repeating, "pieces of eigggggght, pieces of eigggggght!!" over my shoulder. Quite unsettling.

From there I embarked homewards and took a nap before dinner. I got the real scotch whisky experience that night and it involved less careful connoisseurship than it did carefree carousal.

It's nice going to school in a capital city. This morning the tutorial for my art history class actually met in the National Gallery of Scotland to look at the real Hans Holbein Allergory of the Old and New Testaments in person instead of from a projector screen, along with some other works from the early Renaissance. I'm a fan of those Northern artists, myself. Go to Italy and it's all half-naked Marys holding swaddled saviors with angels and trumpets and garlands (not to say they didn't get painted in the North, too). But give me a good Vermeer or Rembrandt painting some somber looking fellows holding kitchen utensils or something. More relatable, anyway.

So after class I wandered around for half an hour and found myself in France staring at some Degas ballerinas, some Van Gogh olive trees, &c. All the museum guards wear dark blue sweaters and green/blue/yellow tartan trousers as their uniforms. Pretty legit. Won't mess with a guy in checkered dress pants.

I had an hour until my next, final, and only lecture of the day (on Oscar Wilde) and so decided to just walk around outside the museum for a bit. While I was sitting on a bench these two guys appeared out of the air in kilts with bagpipes and starting playing. No, I'm serious - it's like those guys you see in New York subway stations playing 3/5 of a drum set or a guitar missing a string, except with culture and polish. So that was pleasant. I've actually grown accustomed to the cranky crooning of the bagpipes. You hear them more often than not just walking around the city, sometimes from blocks away.

So to the left is the piper I tapped my foot to for a bit. When I walked away without throwing a coin into his case he kind of sneered at me, but I only had bills, and no one can expect you to give a bagpiper five pounds! Actually, I've been finding the whole no-one-dollar(pound)-bill thing a real conundrum here. I understand that one can't expect the UK to abandon all their time-cherished traditions and cultural habits in the face of US ones, but the dollar bill is just so easy. It fits in your wallet properly instead of filling it up with thick, heavy coins; it is a small enough denomination to give to street-performers or street-borne unfortunates, &c. I usually empty out all of my coins every day and put them in a jar, so the lowest denomination I carry is a 'fiver.' Sorry, Mr. Bagpipes, no tip for you today.

On a side note, I've been told that the UK one pound note exists, but that it is for some reason considered obscure and obsolete - like our two dollar bill. I can see why the two dollar bill is silly, but the one pound note? Hrm...

Looking ahead, I'm going to North Berwick this weekend with my pals Pete, Karrin, and Taylor. It's nothing special to Scots, I imagine, but for outdoorsy US visitors I'm sure its hills, shoreline, ruined castle, and fresh mussels will do us well. Just an hour outside of the city and very pretty, apparently.

To the right are my Scots of the Week, Calum (creepin') and Iain (sleepin'). Calum's from Glasgow, studying Physical Education, and wants to eventually come to teach in the States. He's recently become addicted to the show 'Californiacation.' Iain is a hard working Edinburgher (Edinburghite/burghian?) with a mind for economics/maths and cooking. They're my flatmates, mentioned in an earlier post, and 'quality lads' both.

Thank God that Face Paint Was Water-Based

Hello all. Another week rolls to a soggy end here in Edinburgh - today making the fourth of fifth consecutive day of drizzles and high winds. An Edinburgh native I met on a bus the other day told me that this is the only city he's been to where you can walk completely around a city block and have the wind blowing straight into your face regardless of what direction you're going.

But all is well, despite the weather. The sun is beginning to set later (when I arrived it was geting dark at 3:30pm-ish).

To the right is a "T.K. Maxx" store. Isn't it "T.J." in the US? I wonder why the name difference?

I've actually been thinking about the differences in language here a lot recently. For instance, instead of "yield" signs, theirs say "make way." If you think about it, that means that their signs are more expensive to print, requiring seven letters instead of five. They have us beat in the case of real estate, however, as "For rent" turns into "To Let" - and I keep thinking they say "toilet." So it is cheaper for them to manufacture apartment advertisements, I guess. That's another place they have us beat: flat vs. apartment. Elevator vs. lift, too. What's this called? Linguistic Economics?

Kickboxing has been going well. Went on Wednesday and there's another session tonight. Went out to a black-and-white themed party organized at a club by the university last night. Woke up and forgot that I had black paint decoratively dotting and streaking my face - I looked like a monochromatic Braveheart. Good time, though.

I planned my Spring Break travels yesterday and it's looking to be quite the ride (train ride, actually). My tour will take me through nine major cities in England, France, and Italy over a twenty day period. The plan, in order of destination, is: Fly from Edinburgh to London, then London to Paris by the Chunnel, and, by rail pass, Paris to Nantes to Bordeaux to Milan to Venice to Florence to Rome, with a stop at Bologna. Then from Rome I fly back to London to connect with a flight to Edinburgh. All plans subject to some degree of change, of course. I get about one full day and two half-days in each city, with the exception of about four full days in Paris. Then, the day after I get back, my exchange program runs a free trip to the Argyll (pron. "argyle") Forest over three days - Loch Lomond, woodland, hiking, canoeing, etc.

The above map is of my intended route.

In London I'll be with a friend who is studying at Dublin this semester, Bridget Holmes. My friend Erin Feeney teaches English in Paris, and I'll see her one or two days there. Kappa Sig brother Dan Levinson is at Milan, and fellow writing tutor Judith Stapleton is living in Florence, so I'll have friends in about half the cities I'm visiting. The rest of the time I'll by riding/flying solo - which I'm not concerned about, and actually find exciting. The only downer is that I'll either have to self-time a lot of pictures or else paint "tourist" on my forehead and get others to photograph for me.

As far as luggage goes, it can get pricy to travel on economy airlines with more than a carry-on, and I by no means want to lug around a duffle bag everywhere. Thus I am presently resolved to take my well-equipped backpack only. I'll probably be wearing the same shirt in a lot of pictures. Planning on packing pretty lightly, as I'm sure I'll accrue trinkets - you know, rocks from famous poets' gardens, etc - and the like to tote back to Edinburgh.

My only uncertainty lies with whether or not I should take my laptop with me. I'm a careful guy with pricy/important possessions, but I acknowledge that I'm going to a lot of places totally foreign to me, full of possibly shifty characters, with a slew of unexpected events waiting for me. That said, I don't know if bringing my laptop - possibly (for good or ill) my most important day-to-day possession - is a grand idea. Internet might not always be available anyway, rendering most of the computer's utility null in any case. So for now I'm resolved to leave it in Edinburgh. If young European gentlemen-in-training could get along in the 19th Century during their 'grand tours' without a macbook, I think I'll scrape by, too.

So if anyone reading this has advice, warning, tips, insight, or knows anyone living in these cities I could possibly stay with for two nights or so, shoot me an email or leave a comment!

I've begun compiling a list of tasks I want to achieve over my twenty day European jaunt. A few highlights include: horseback riding in Italy, bordeaux in Bordeaux, three streets two towers in Bologna, gondola ride in Venice, find a mime in Paris, &c &c. Suggestions welcome.

And for those of you thinking this collected relation of my travel plans a shameless exhibition of under-appreciation for the magnificence of what lies before me, I bid you recall this: my last two spring breaks have been spent, respectively, in Middletown (should be called Middle-of-Nowhere-Town), Delware with the rowing team on a cold lake, and Glen Rock, New Jersey during the worst storm that North Jersey's seen in a hundred years, with no heat, electricity, internet, access to the roads, or ability to make warm food. So I think this is karma kicking in.

Right: Spring Break 2010. Woo!

In other news, I'm keeping up with my classes. Have a paper due Monday that I wrote last week on the most depressing poem ever written - The City of Dreadful Night by James Thomson. A very interesting piece of work written in 1873 by an author suffering from depression and insomnia about a hellish ever-benighted London where the external world is void of religiosity or emotion, with mankind constantly attempting to project their internal feelings and beliefs onto a substantially detached, dead landscape. Charming tale. Despite the author's afflicted state of mind, the poem contains impressive subtlety and underlying meaning.

Time for me to make something to eat and start reading for next week. Had the opportunity to go home with Calum to Glasgow (only an hour away) this weekend for his friend's 18th birthday festivities, but already had Saturday-night plans. I will get to Glasgow eventually, however, and Calum says he'll be back for certain.