A Dummy’s Guide to Scotland
(as told by Sarah)
(from a tiny blip of a college campus in the middle of nowhere)

So here is the blog I promised you all. Yes, it’s probably a bit (a lot) overdue in the minds of some of my readers, but, I think, appropriately timed, more or less, for what I need to say in it. I’m feeling a bit melancholy right now, but I’m sure it will pass. Soon, I hope.
Well, the title says it all, so I will disregard the normal opening paragraph, the way I typically disregard the normal closing paragraph when I’m too lazy to write one, and jump right in.

The weather: It’s as changing and bipolar as Ohio’s weather, but, it seems, with a less radical range. Yesterday morning, for example, I was able to go out in just my hoodie, but by evening I had to wear my coat over it and I was still shivering. The day before that it was quite rainy but warm enough that I took a walk with my umbrella. The day before that it was just barely warm enough for the sprinkling rain to turn to snow.
Overall I think I shouldn’t complain about the weather, because it was cool and beautiful for my first few days here, compared to the snow storm (which led to torrential flooding) that was raping Ohio when I left. Sometimes it will be terribly windy for days at a time, but for the most part it seems quite promising. I’m hoping it gets warmer quick, because I’m sick of having to wear my hoodie everywhere.

The land: is beautiful. As I mentioned before, I was worried that the grass would still be brown so early in the year, but when I got here I discovered that these fears were unfounded. It is quite green here, with hills that remind me a bit of Amish Country, although they are substantially less… energetic than Amish Country’s hills, preferring to roll and wave rather than hop around with odd angles and such.

I really want to see the Highlands before I go – in all of the pictures I’ve seen, they have the aura of a wise and aged grandparent that can both take care of you and provide a challenge that will help you grow. I feel both comforted and intimated by what I see.
That sounds silly, yeah, but think about it the next time you see a picture of the Highlands. You may not think I’m so crazy then.

The food: I haven’t had much outside the school’s food, which is largely sub-par. There have been a few things that were delicious – the “southern fried” chicken, the beef stew, and an Aberdeen dish that was like beef stew but made with the texture of mashed potatoes – but it’s almost like everything has been dusted with the same odd tangy aroma or flavor that I can’t quite get past, like the smell of an old person's house. I definitely feel, if the canteen food is any indication, that American food is much more flavorful. Of course, it would be unfair to make that assumption based strictly on the canteen food; after all, what if someone came to the States and judged American food based on what our cafeteria serves?
I have been forced to relax my rules about how deeply incompatible foods are allowed to become involved with one another, as it often seems that the servers in the cafeteria are actively encouraging my food to fornicate right there on my plate, resulting in mutant cross-bred food particles that cause my palate to react convulsively. Occasionally, if I’m especially wary of fornicating foods, I’ll ask for a separate plate for my French fries (I mean chips) so that they don’t become ensoggened (I just made up that word… I think it’s cute) by baked bean juices or stir fry sauce. Allistair quite quickly took to teasing me about this. His first explanation was “Oh, she’s an American”, but I quickly corrected him. “Oh, heck, that has nothing to do with it. People back home make fun of me too,” I said.
I have recently discovered something terrible. Upon experiencing what the southern yokel would call a “hankerin’” for tacos, I did a search for local Taco Bells… and… there are none. In all of Scotland. Scotland has NO TACO BELLS. In the States we have at least one in EVERY REASONABLY SIZED TOWN. (We are also pretty much the most obese country in the world, so just what does that tell you?) England has 2, but they’re both down south. 340 miles away. Also no Long John Silver’s, but I can live with that since I’m in the Land of Fish and Chips. For all I know theirs are way better than LJS anyway. And no Dunkin’ Donuts, either. They do have Krispy Kremes, but they are all situated in England as well, in a little clot across the Irish Sea from Dublin.
They have something in the cafeteria that comes in a little packet, called, simply, “brown sauce”, that I’ve been using for my French fries (I mean chips). It tastes a little like barbeque sauce, with a bit more of a vinegar-y flavor. There are also these little dessert treats that consist of milk chocolate over a graham cracker crust with marshmallows on top. It is soooooooo gooooood. Don’t forget about my disappointing experience with the “barbeque chicken” at the mall. And there is a beverage called “Irn Bru” that is apparently popular with young people here. It looks like orange soda but I have yet to try it, as I was fortified with a wariness against the stuff by Niall, my Heritage Studies teacher. Also, this paragraph has apparently become a catch-all for the various foods that don’t fit in the “can’t touch on my plate” or “served in the canteen” or “restaurants they don’t have here” categories.
I have not yet tried haggis, although there have been variations on it available in the canteen.

The fashion: Seems to be somewhat similar to what it is in the States, but there is far less variety. However, since I know next to nothing about fashion I couldn’t say for sure. It seems that the H&M styles are fashionable for girls, as are those ugly fluffy boots that girls in the States wear. In a school of horse girls I see a LOT of boots, ranging from downright ugly to uniquely cute, and there are some that look both practical on the yard and fashionable off.
That’s about all I can say about fashion, except for this: they really like their necklaces long. And they have more feather jewelry here. I have a pair of feather earrings (two actually, though one pair has disappeared), and I’ve always thought there was something really cute about feather jewelry. They have a much better selection here than at home, although I probably won’t buy any because I wouldn’t be able to pack them without squishing them and messing up their prettiness. Plus I don’t need them and I have to exercise control over my purchases.

The roads: They are frightening. They’re very narrow, at least in this part of the country. There are places on the country roads where they have stone bridges that are only wide enough for one vehicle and are armed with traffic lights so that only one vehicle is on each at any given time. There are roundabouts out the wazoo, although Claire (that’s right – I have a Claire here as well as at home) told me that this specific region is rather eccentric in its number of roundabouts; apparently they’re not so prolific in other parts of Scotland. I think I mentioned that there are a lot of them here, and that they each have special names, but I also want to say that there is an extreme amount of variation between them. Some of them just look like little concrete slabs 10 or 15 feet wide, while others are 25 or 30 feet wide and boast a tiny ecosystem complete with trees and rocks and, in at least one case, a random stone monument, like a tiny landlocked Easter Island of sorts.

There are, however, lots of twisty, turny and loopity roads, and I have discovered that I get easily confused due to my ingrained, and decidedly American, understanding of how roads work. This might seem obvious, given the differences that I’ve mentioned, but I’m talking about something far more subtle. For example, when I was riding the minibus with John last Tuesday and he was preparing to make a right-hand turn into the WalMart parking lot, I instinctively thought “check the lane next to me before I turn to make sure no one’s coming up beside me on the right”. Then I remembered that there wouldn’t be anyone coming up on the right, because the right lane next to us was for oncoming traffic, not turn-only traffic, like it would be in the states. Also, depending on which direction my vehicle is turning, I would automatically scan both ways for a left turn, but focus on my left side when making a right turn because I don’t have to cross a lane to make a right-hand turn. Here, of course, it’s the other way around. And for those of you who were unsure: yes, they do drive on the “wrong” side of the road over here, and all of the cars are made with the driver positioned on the right-hand side of the car rather than the left. Speaking of…

The cars: It’s quite an odd thing, although I haven’t driven any cars or been in the passenger seat of a regular car. I will say, however, that the cars here all have a singular look about them. They are much rounder, more compact and more “efficient”-looking than American cars, and although there is, I discovered this morning, a Ford Escort in the college parking lot (really bizarre to see my dad’s car but in mirror-image), most of the models I see are unfamiliar to me. I recognize Ford, Toyota, Honda, etc., but there are makes and models here that I’ve never seen before. One of the cars at the college is this cute little blue thing, and it’s so compact that it only has one windshield wiper in the front window. It also looks WAY too tiny to be a four-door, yet it is (although it has virtually no trunk, or “boot”). I've seen a few pickup trucks, and every time they make me smile, because they seem so out of place here.

The music: Hard to say. The only music I’ve heard thusfar is that which spews forth from the radios of my flatmate and the ASDA minibus. I can tell you this, though: from what I’ve heard, young people here listen to the same crap that young people at home listen to. Flatmate’s radio was blaring for half the day last weekend, in the kitchen, with no one around to hear it but me, in my room with the door closed. When I walked into the hall it was so loud that it was like stepping into a nightclub. My point, though, is that I had to listen to it for a few hours straight, and from what I noticed, it was the same 15 or so American hip-hop songs played over and over and over and over and over again. *shudder*
As I have mentioned, I have not heard a single bagpipe since I got here, except for those of Gaelic Storm and Slainte Mhath that have come from the speakers of my own laptop. I don’t know yet what post-pubescent people generally listen to.

The buildings: All look very similar. I know that this is likely another cultural thing, like the fact that many of the cars look the same or that many Americans think that all Asians look alike. A vast (VAST) percentage of the buildings (aside from some of the barns and shopping centers) are made of stone. Take a look at any picture of Edinburgh and you can kind of get the idea. There is stone freaking everywhere. As Bud might say, “They’ve got stone comin’ outta their ying-ying!” It is difficult to tell the difference between a church, a house, a post office, a hotel and a pub if there is no sign to help you out, and sometimes the signs are just as confusing when you’re looking at them through the eyes of a foreigner – I know, for example, what to expect when I see an “FYE” sign, but what the heck is “BHS”? As a horse person, “BHS” stands for “British Horse Society”, but what does it mean in a shopping mall? These are things that the average native Scot knows instinctively, the way I know what “FYE” is. But to me it’s very confusing.
Despite never being absolutely sure whether the shop I’m about to step into is going to try to sell me a god or a candy bar, I find the buildings here to be beautiful. Even the ugly ones. They’re not ugly – they’re quaint. Old-worldly. Traditional.

When I went shopping on High Street in Linlithgow on Saturday for my birthday outing, there were gated and sometimes arched doorways open in the buildings or between them, often with short stone staircases leading up to what looked like residences. Quaint. Old-worldly. Traditional. A bit fantastic. Here’s an example of what I mean, although in this case there are no adorable stone steps and it leads to a restaurant, not a home:After taking this pic I walked into the little alley and took a close-up of the restaurant. Isn't it cute?

The people: Most of the adults I’ve met have been quite nice. Most of the young people I’ve met have been… less so.
I want to say that the older students in my Heritage Studies class are easy to get along with, and after spending so much time with the teenagers that live on campus, I swear I can feel a palpable difference in the maturity level when I enter that classroom. The kids here, on the other hand (I am hesitant to say this, but it’s my honest observation), are kind of rude, and I find it difficult to imagine that they’re going to grow up to be the helpful and mature adults that I see around me. I don’t think I’ve had a single young person open a door for me, and have heard very little gratitude, and seen very little acknowledgement, even, when I do it for others. Many of them don’t make room on the sidewalk or the staircase when I’m walking toward them. Beyond taking up their trays, they don’t clean up after themselves in the canteen unless ordered to do so, nor do they seem to acknowledge the effort of the cafeteria workers or the cleaning ladies. They’re rude to each other, too, so it’s not like I and the college staff get special treatment in that department.
And don’t get me started on my flatmate’s kitchen cleanliness (or lack thereof) or the fact that she’s not done a single thing to make me feel welcome since I got here. Last week I found a skillet in a drawer that had not been washed or even scraped before it was put away. I am not joking.
Allistair told me once that I need to cut them some slack – that they are free from their parents for the first time and it is only natural for them to be a little wild. I have decided that stretching your legs and experimenting with drugs and alcohol, if they really feel it is necessary, should not affect the manners they exhibit toward other students and the college staff.
I don’t know if this is a cultural difference or not. I suspect that it is, and I don’t know how that makes me feel.
Speaking of disconcertingly ambiguous feelings, I took a walk before dinner tonight, and I got to thinking, and I don’t know if I like the ideas I came up with. I have decided that I really feel distanced from a lot of the other students here. Furthermore, I discovered that I am uncomfortable with not knowing how many of my feelings of outcasted-ness are due to natural “American in another country” culture shock, and how much of it is due to being surrounded so often by people who are 5, 6, 7 or in some cases even 8 years younger than me. And I don’t know whether this discomfort is due simply to the seemingly alien nature of the average teenager (it seemed largely alien even when I was a teenager myself) or if it’s due to the fact that, holy shite, when I’m standing with a group of these kids… I am the adult. I am the responsible one. I’m not saying that I think they're all to suddenly look up with wide, expectant eyes and wait for me to spout out my sage wisdom or anything like that. It’s just the thought that I’m the oldest person in this group. Theoretically I am the example-setter here, though I doubt their odds of paying attention to my “example” are any better than the odds that they would actually push their chairs in when they’re done eating (seriously, they need to take a class with Nancy). I am the most experienced one, and should be expected to act like it if it is asked of me.
Except that I’m not sure if I could.
And while I’m worried about it… is this a reflection on my readiness to join the real world? Like, after graduation? I don’t feel any more adult now than I did three years ago when I graduated from LCCC. How can I expect the world to take me seriously? Will it, even if I feel like it shouldn’t? Is real life just about pretending that you know what you’re about and the world accepting you as a competent individual? Is there ANY adult out there that actually feels like he or she has earned adulthood? Or all we all just insecure young adults sporting various stages of wear?

I think that being philosophical about my place in the universe is a great way to end a blog.
What do you say?
♥
SM

My First Bus Ride

Happy Birthday, Sister Kristin!!!!! (03/08/1987)

March 7, 2011 (because this lovely excursion happened yesterday)

I know I was supposed to write this blog about my American views of certain things in Scotland, and I’ll still do that… but in another blog. Because for this one I have a new experience to relate – my first real foray into public transportation and shopping in Scotland.
I navigated a local public transportation website, traveline.com, yesterday to figure out where and when I could grab a bus. I’d seen a bus stop right outside Ecclesmachan and figured that ought to be a spot where I could get picked up. After doing a search of local T-Mobile locations I had determined to go to a shopping center called The Gyle, which is at the city limits of Edinburgh. However, when I went to breakfast this morning I saw Rose and Linda, her boss, and when I told them that I was going to try my hand at public transportation they recommended that I try the mall in Livingston instead, as it was bigger and also had a T-Mobile store in it. So When I got back to my room I found myself a new route.
Off to Livingston I shall go!
I stopped in the coffee shop and got a Twix bar, against my better judgment, before I left. Naturally I left my route information on the counter there, and didn’t realize it until I got to the bus stop. Luckily I remembered the important details (be at Stance D at 16:47 for the bus back), so it wasn’t a major deal for me. Someone arrived shortly after me at the Ecclesmachan bus stop, which boosted my confidence a skosh. I didn’t know how much the fare (it’s £1.70 to go between Ecclesmachan and Livingston, in case you’re ever out this way and need to know) would be and didn’t want to waste the bus driver’s time while I dug it out, so I dropped £2 into the change receptacle. I think he was annoyed by it but he didn’t say anything.
The ride to Livingston was relatively uneventful, but I kept myself alert to the road signs, looking out for anything relating to “The Centre” or “Almondvale Avenue”. I do want to mention, however, that the ubiquitous British “roundabout” is spawning healthily out this way. Seriously, they have roundabouts here like we have intersections back home. It’s crazy. And each and every one has a special name. They are really serious about their roundabouts.
The entrance to the mall, which is I believe the main entrance, that the bus dropped us off at was big, and inside it looked absolutely massive. The avenues (I don’t know what we call them) here were large enough for major vehicular traffic to pass through and the glass ceiling was at least 4 stories above my head. Further along it closed in significantly, until it was narrower in width and shorter in height than what I’m used to in the States.
I saw some stores that I recognized, such as H&M and the Disney Store, but most of them were completely foreign to me and some had comical names, like “Cotswold” (sounds like a British word, doesn’t it?), “Aulds”, “Peacocks”, “Schuh” (pronounced, “shoe”, I’m assuming, since that’s what they sold there) and “Jessops”. There was also the British equivalent of a Dollar Tree, affectionately called “Poundland”. Isn’t that just “tickle-your-gut” adorable? I suppose we do have some oddly-christened stores in the States, such as “Babbages” and “Torrid” (the worst name for a plus-size clothing store for women, by the way, that they could have chosen).
The first store I went into was a department store called M&S. I didn’t see much that I liked, but the store was notable because it was a department store… with a grocery store inside of it. Seriously. Imagine going into Sears and you turn a corner and suddenly you feel like you’re at Sparkle market. It was weird. There was even a little bakery in it, which was like a store-within-a-store-within-a-store-within-a-mall. I almost bought a maple pecan thing for 80p or something… it smelled so good! Luckily there wasn’t an attendant at the bakery so I was forced to turn it down. Close call, that one!
I have commented that I haven’t seen a single kilt or heard a single bagpipe since I got here. There is, however, a store at the mall called “Highlander” that specializes in kilts, but I didn’t go in. The sign mentioned “other formalwear”, which made me think it would be like walking into an “American Commodore” and telling the attendants there that you’re just browsing (“Ummm… okay. Sure…”). That balked me, plus the fact that I’d have had to go up a flight of stairs to get to it, where everyone could see me and think I was a weirdo.
On my way back through the mall I found a directory, because I hadn’t seen the T-Mobile store (which was, after all, the focus of my journey), and found that I had passed it up. The girl in the store seemed friendly, but she didn’t offer me much advice or spend a long time chatting with me about my options. Unfortunately, I’d have to say I got the impression that she wanted to get me out of the store as soon as she could. I picked the cheapest phone available that had a camera (it was only the second cheapest of the lot, at £10) and “topped it up” with another £10.
I stopped at around 3pm at a café called BB’s to grab a sandwich, charge my new phone and read the user instruction pamphlet. I ordered a barbeque chicken sandwich (which tasted like chicken but did NOT taste like barbeque) and a hot chocolate (which tasted like semi-mediocre hot chocolate), and immediately proceeded to make a mess of the hot chocolate, spilling a bit onto the table, and from there onto my hoodie.
I went into a store called “Superdrug” (I know it sounds bad, but it was like a RiteAid I swear) and looked at their hair straightener selection. They had a few to choose from, and they were all dual-voltage, as I had hoped (yes!!!!) but I thought I’d check out WalMart’s selection before buying one. Later I discovered that WalMart’s selection was… well, they didn’t have one. Not a single hair straightener. As much as I hate WalMart and their money-grubbing, privacy-invading, soul-crushing, employee-screwing, pompous tyranny, I have to admit that the ones that we have in the States at least have hair straighteners. I mean, come on, United Kingdom!
Anyhow, I figured while I was at WalMart I may as well do some grocery shopping, so I wouldn’t have to bother with the Tuesday night minivan run. I also found an adapter for UK to US plugs, and they were only £2. I had resolved to buy myself a UK straightener, so I knew that I would need one of these. I’ll be sure to get one before I leave.
Gah! I’m so not in a blogging mood right now. But I must persevere. For my readers. I love them like a second-rate supervillain pretends to love frozen yogurt to impress the girl at the laundromat. Bazinga!! (No, that’s not saying that I pretend to love them. Read it correctly! *smack* Kidding. I wouldn’t smack you. I love you, remember?)
When I got back out to the bus stop (Terminal “E” was the one I needed ) I examined the bus schedule there and fretted a bit because it said it was going to Linlithgow. Ecclesmachan is, of course, halfway between Linlithgow and Livingston, which makes my fretting pointless and silly, but I think my newness to the whole matter means that my naïve worry can be forgiven. I talked to the driver of the bus that left right before mine, and he assured me that I was at the right terminal and that the next bus would take me back properly.
I’d waited around for about 10 minutes (of course I got there early out of my anal fear of making a mistake) when an attractive guy approached and scrutinized the route schedule. He asked me if I knew whether or not the 21 (the bus that had just left) was usually on time, and I had to confess that I had only just ridden a bus in Scotland for the first time that day, so I had no clue. I also had to inform him that if he was looking for bus 21, it had just left less than a minute earlier. Despite remarking that he needed the bus he didn’t seem overly chagrined that it had left without him. Whether this reflected an extraordinarily laid-back manner or a lack of true desire to get where he was going, I don’t know. We waved to one another as my bus took off.
My return bus ride, unfortunately, was not as uneventful as my first one. On the plus side, I learned a valuable lesson: while in the States you’re supposed to hit your “stop” button, wait for the bus to stop, then get up and get off, the order of things is not so in the UK. The order here is: walk to front of bus, hit “stop” button, bus stops, get off. If you try doing it like you’re stateside, the driver will pass up your stop and you’ll end up having to ride all the way to the end of his circuit in Linlithgow and halfway back to get back to your destination. I was stunned, confused and alarmed when he didn’t stop for me. I had told him where I was going – that’s how they figure out your fare, remember? – and part of me had thought that maybe the little screen he uses to figure out your fare, I don’t know, kept a journey log for him that let him know where all his passengers were going or something. Not so, crazy little American girl! Not so at all!
On the plus side, the journey to Linlithgow was very pretty. Unfortunately I was unable to appreciate a lot of it due to 1) my impending coronary regarding my missed stop, 2) the reflections off the windows and the speed we were going, which combined to make it hard to take pictures, and 3) the slow descent into darkness. I was fortunate to be seated next to a very concerned 50-something woman, who sympathized with me and helped me out by giving me advice and making sure the driver realized what had happened. I am indebted to her for her help.
So my adventure ended at a little past 6, when I found myself once again on the sidewalk making the trek through Ecclesmachan to the Oatridge College campus. I want to mention that a student car drove by and honked derisively at me while I was walking, but didn’t bother asking me if I needed a ride.
And yes, I know that I can’t claim that the honk was derisive, since I don’t know the car personally, but in my slightly aggravated and weary state it certainly sounded like it.
I got back in time to have dinner with John and Allistair again. I was also privy to a semi-bawdy conversation they were having with a pair of sexually ambivalent boys. Whether they were genuinely exploring their sexuality or just being teased about their chummy relationship I have no idea. Scottish humor still mostly eludes me.
I have yet to plan my next excursion, but Niall tells me that in two weeks’ time my Heritage class may take a trip to Edinburgh.
*squeal!!*
♥
SM

First Week of Classes

So from here on out, in the interest of not boring my readers, I will reflect on more general terms the things that I experience rather than giving a chronology of what happens to me. I shall still have to refer to my journal. Give me a moment.
*precisely one moment passes*
I suppose the best use of this blog would be letting everyone know what my classes are like. I should start by mentioning that all of my teachers have been exceedingly friendly, cheerful and accommodating.
Tuesday mornings I have 3 hours of Equine Fitness, and on Wednesday 2 hours of Grassland Management. In both classes we began with brief PowerPoints and a discussion of basic points of horse care that form the foundation of these two topics, such as signs of health and illness in the horse, body condition scoring, types of common grazing grasses and toxic plants and good pasture management practices regarding drainage, fencing, water supply, etc.
The girls in the fitness class are HNC (Higher National Certificate) girls, which from what I gather means that they’re somewhere between 17 and 19 years old. A lot of them ignored me, which is relatively understandable, but several invited me to join them, both in the classroom and in the barn, and I am grateful to them for it. We spent some little time in the barn doing practice fitness assessments of some of the college’s chubbier horses. Our horse, Sky, was irritable at our intrusion into his full schedule of chomping on his hay, and it took us to the end of our session to get his pulse because he wouldn’t keep his head still. I’ll be going back out to the yard today (Friday) to do the official assessment that I’ll use for my semester assignment.
The HND (Higher National Degree) class was a bit smaller and seemed friendlier overall to me. They’re a smidge older, and although they’re pretty goofy there’s an air of respect about them that seems to be lacking in many of the younger kids at this college. The atmosphere in the classroom closely mimicked that of Dr. Giedt’s nutrition class and Cami’s health class, which made me feel at home almost immediately. Sharon had everyone introduce themselves to me, and through this I discovered that there is a wee, unofficial Allistair Cranston fan club on campus. I am not permitted to say more. ;-)
During the second half of class we took a long walk to a few paddocks that are to be the focus of our semester’s (or rather our “block’s”) practical work. I hadn’t realized that we’d be making such a jaunt, and I wish that I had had my camera with me. There are a few hills beyond the pastures, lots of green and a stone wall that needs a little repairing. I’m sure we will be out there again soon, possibly as early as next week. I will be sure to bring my camera to class from here on out.
My Heritage Studies class actually has boys in it. Well, not boys, really. Guys. And a few men. And some of them are attractive. I sat next to an English guy named Simon (or rather, he sat next to me) who has beautiful blue eyes and looks familiarly like several people I know from back home. Steve sat in the front near the window and had a big, ready smile, sparkling eyes and an A M A Z I N G voice (I realized last night why he looked so familiar – he looks a lot like Benji Schwimmer – major points in the hotness department, which bodes ill for me). Behind him was a (probably) 30-something guy named Alan that also had a fantastic accent, all full of brogue-ishness yet not difficult to understand.
The class boasts a smaller crowd that is noticeably older, not to mention more calm and introspective, than what I observed in my other two classes, and I felt quite comfortable around them (although there was one guy who remarked that if Scotland had no culture, “… it would be like America”). The teacher, Neil, is a likable goofball, and we spent most of our class time discussing the three types of heritage and digging up examples from around Scotland. Most of the examples ended up originating locally, from the Edinburgh area.
I am sad to say that I have not seen a single kilt nor heard a single bagpipe since I got here. The only traditional music I’ve heard has come from my own laptop (I am listening to a Slainte Mhath/Gaelic Storm bagpipe mix right now). I imagine there’s a traditional music shop in Broxburn somewhere – I’d love to explore that little town as soon as possible. It seems irresistibly charming.
I think in my next blog I will describe the area – the buildings, the land, the weather, the people, the food – with a focus on the various points that strike me due to their contrast to what I’m used to. It's been overcast for the past day and a half, but as I type this my room is brightening with sunshine!! Getting ready to talk to Mom on Skype again, then I have to head up to the yard.
Wonderful sunshine!! I'm so excited!!!!!
♥
SM

First Few Days in Scotland!

*WARNING: I HOPE YOU’VE GONE TO THE BATHROOM RECENTLY AND BROUGHT ALONG A SNACK, BECAUSE THIS BLOG IS LONG*

Since I’ve spent my first several days here without Internet access in my room, this blog will have a LOT in it. I started it when I was waiting for my connection in New Jersey, and continued it after I got to my room and settled in somewhat. That was Monday, I think, so I’ll end this post with Monday night and pick up Tuesday in a new post. I’ll have pictures shortly. Maybe even before you get to read this.
First, I want to say that the reason this is so late in being updated is that I managed to fry my hair straightened on Monday morning, and didn’t trust the outlets here to be kind to my laptop. This morning, however, I got some reassurance from Craig in the IT department that I can plug my laptop in without fear. Therefore I am now blogging from my laptop in my room, and will be able to update you regularly once I get these first few days untangled for you! I’ve been keeping everything that happens to me updated in a hard copy using a journal I bought at Borders before I left home, so I have something solid to start with.
So, here goes:

Newark, New Jersey
5:14pm

New Jersey tarmac

Sitting at the Newark airport. My ears have still not recovered from our descent, and they feel clogged up. I hate it. Chewing gum only went so far. Also, the “Free Public wifi" is not exactly that. My laptop claims that I have been connected, but won’t let me get online. As a result, I will not be posting this immediately.
Cindy, Dad and I (and the little Cindyspawns) went to Famous Dave’s this morning before heading to the airport. I need to vent about this. I will do so now. I will try to keep it brief.
As some of you know, my absolute favorite food, in the whole wide world, is the Sweet ‘n’ Sassy Grilled Salmon platter at Famous Dave’s. I have looked forward to it since I was last at Famous Dave’s (last summer) and was looking forward again to it being my last meal in the U.S. before I left for Scotland. Wouldn’t you know… that they have changed their menu. And not in a good way. I don’t know what other choices they have eliminated from us their admiring patrons, but I will tell you this: their most delicious dish, Grilled Salmon, has been axed. Why they have done this I haven’t the faintest clue. Perhaps they have too many customers, and thus are making too much money, and wished to lower their stock value by driving away us their admiring patrons.
The only Salmon left on the menu is this new Citrus Salmon, which I accepted as a stand-in. It was something of a lackluster substitute. Definitely not the same, and it doesn’t come with all the fixins (cornbread, onion strings, corn-on-the-cob, fries, etc.) that their entrees usually come with.
I will have trouble coping with this loss, as I did when Applebee’s made a similar decision regarding their menu choices and took away an amazing dessert – Apple ChimiCheesecake. Phenomenal. And no more. I thus must find a new favorite restaurant. LongHorn SteakHouse is in the lead.
Mom and Nan met us at the airport, and after a bit of mild panic on my part (I did not have my exact confirmation number and hadn’t known that I was supposed to print it off – hey! I’m new at this!) the man at baggage check-in scanned my passport and declared that everything was in order. Cindy explained the paperwork that they gave me, and gave me some advice.
Mom did not cry at any point before I walked away. Nan started tearing up, which surprised me, and Dad and Cindy were visibly reluctant to let go of me once they got me into a hug. Well, that’s exceptionally true with Mom too. She tried to drag me back out the door twice when she had me locked up in her arms.
*note: STILL NO INTERNET! HOW YOU VEX ME, NEWARK AIRPORT!! AND FAMOUS DAVE’S!!! AND APPLEBEE’S!!!! end note*
I forgot to take my belt off when I went through security, which resulted in a TSA official giving me a quick frisk around the mid-section. Nothing major. I did, however, end up using 3 of the bins they provide for your things to go through the scanner. I put my laptop on my coat and shoes in one of them, and it slid off on its way in, so it had to get it its own bin. Those two, plus one for my book bag and a little plastic dish for my passport. It seemed to take me a long time to gather my stuff back up, but I was able to stay out of people’s way, more or less.
I sat by two young women on the plane. They were not at all talkative, and both of them tried to doze, which offered me little opportunity to converse without feeling like I was being rude.
Things went fine, except for my poor ears. I have not been able to trick my body into yawning, and every so often I hum a little to myself, to check my hearing. It has not improved. This, I think, is one reason why the lady at JuanValdez and I had trouble understanding one another. (That’s the coffee place I stopped at. The coffee’s not great.)
Wandering around the airport is good fun, but not quite as much when you’ve got a 20-something pound book bag on your shoulders. I tried strapping it to the handle of my little suitcase, which worked well except that it made the suitcase WAY more cumbersome that I would like. I ended up just carrying the book bag.
I have just discovered through exploring the airport that there is a food court with a DUNKIN’ DONUTS IN IT. This exasperates me because I have coupons from DD that expire on the 28th that I didn’t bring with me because I figured I wouldn’t be needing them. Also, if I had known it was there, I wouldn’t have wasted money on that terrible JuanValdez coffee when I could have gotten a delicious latte or something for the same price. *grump* I ended up getting the turkey cheddar and bacon flatbread sandwich. It’s all right.
Also, there’s a 50’s diner here – I stopped to check the prices on the menu, and noticed the heading “Now Boarding Omelettes”. This tickled me for reasons that only Kendra knows. *hint: “Amish Paradise”*
And that brings me to where I am now. Still no wifi, so as I said this blog will be a bit delayed in getting to you. Hopefully not too much, though.
The lady next to me has an English accent.
See you on the other side of the Atlantic.

*See?! I had a great ending to it! But it would seem silly to me to post it and then post another right after it, when both are overdue. I mean, it would have been great if I’d had wifi at Newark, but that didn’t quite work out. Ah, well. I’ll try to keep this part brief, although if you know anything about my writing style, you know that’s virtually impossible, especially since this experience is so utterly new and alien to me.*

My row mate and I had good luck on the Edinburgh flight – it wasn’t booked solid, as the Newark one had been, and as a result we had an extra seat and a tray between us to use. She sat by the window and I sat by the aisle. My reasoning for choosing an aisle seat was that if I needed to get up to go the bathroom, which I knew I would in all likelihood, I wouldn't have to climb over anyone, plus if I couldn’t sleep and my RLS was acting up, I would need to get up and wander about the cabin a bit.
My companion was a bit more talkative than the sleepy ones I had on my flight from Cleveland. She asked me questions about where I was going and why, and told me that she was heading to Edinburgh on business – she is a counselor of some sort. I didn’t get much else out of her, but she was amiable enough.
I was not able to sleep on the plane. Some time after we took off I rummaged through my carry-ons to find my Dramamine. It was not there!! I’ll bet anything that if Mom were to open the cabinet in my bathroom at home it would be sitting right there. *growl* Not that I really need it for motion sickness, because planes are apparently not as bad for me as cars, but I know that Dramamine makes me sleepy, and I think that little bit of added oomph would have gone a long way to helping me sleep.
I want to mention, for Mom (and since she might not read this, make sure you tell her, Cindy) that there was a woman onboard playing a game called “Bejeweled” on her touch screen tv. This is a game that my mom found on msn.com that she loves, although recently she has become more addicted to Zuma! and Zuma’s Revenge.
I feel really stupid for this, but I didn’t realize that the video screens we had at our seats provided free on-flight entertainment. For the ride from Cleveland to Newark we also had videos, but they made a point of mentioning over and over that the things it was showing were just previews, and that if we wanted to watch something we had to pay $6. Screw that. But, as it turns out, the movies and tv shows on the overnight flight were indeed free. I realized this WAY too late. They had one episode of The Big Bang Theory available (the one where Sheldon creates an android of himself with a computer screen face), but I only got to watch a few minutes of it before we began our descent.
Speaking of our descent, it was excruciating for me. As some of you know, I have had problems with my ears for pretty much my whole life, and I hate getting water in my ears (and anything else that changes the pressure in there). The pack of gum I bought before heading to my gate in Cleveland did very little to ease the pain, and I quickly got sick of chewing it as the gum dried out my mouth and tired my jaws. As of right now it is *does math based on the time my laptop says* quarter til 5 in the evening (meaning you all are just heading to lunch), and I’m still feeling a bit of clogged-ness and hearing an occasional crinkle that means they’re still not back to normal. Grrr… I hate it! I am not looking forward to doing it again, and I think it is safe to say that while I don’t mind flying, I would rather not do it, just for this specific reason.
I also want to say, for Dad, that we had a beautiful sunrise to look at as we got to the airport, (although It was on the other side of the plane), and that I looked out the window across the aisle just in time to see the Firth of Forth bridge (the Forth Rail Bridge, I guess they call it) as we passed some four or five miles from it! I had never really seen it before Friday night, when Dad and I were watching a DVD that he’d gotten at the library. I was fascinated that I had only just discovered it, and there it was, exactly as we had seen it the day before on Dad's TV. This of course made me think of Dad, and I smiled despite the debilitating pain in my ears.
It took me a tad longer to get through customs than it probably should have, though through no fault of my own. The official asked me a bunch of questions about my purpose for being in Scotland and took a sort of professional wariness in dealing with me. He had never seen a student come into the country to go to this particular college, and wouldn’t process me until he was sure that Oatridge was on their “sponsorship list”. He had me sit aside while he dealt with the rest of the people from my flight, which made me a little anxious. Besides that I was a bit nauseous, a lot fatigued from not sleeping, and my ears were clogged up horribly. After a few minutes he came out of the office with a grin on his face, and my anxiety faded just a skosh. One more hurtle overcome.
My checked bag was one of only a few left in the baggage claim area, and I was slightly dismayed to find that it had been smudged in a few places with something dark. The few other airport personnel I encountered seemed a bit terse, but they directed me to the taxi queue nonetheless, where I got myself an extremely amicable and talkative taxi driver. He knew exactly where the college was, and answered my questions about the area. I was tickled when I recognized the roads I was on – last semester Jennie insisted on finding both of our study abroad locales via Google Maps, and I saw all the nearby roads leading to and from the college. The confusion we suffered when we tried to find the actual college is now cleared up, and I could find it without a problem if I Google Mapped it now!

____________________Oatridge College, according to Google Maps__________________

*note: I’m getting a little worried about my computer’s power cord. It was charging fine earlier, in this very room, but now it’ll charge for a few minutes, then tell me it’s plugged in but not charging. I don’t know why… it’s never done this before :-( *
My taxi driver drove me up and down the road on campus, trying valiantly to find me someone to talk to, but he ended up having to leave me in the Resident Reception area. It was only about ten minutes later that Tasho, the groundskeeper, showed up, and told me that he’d been looking for me and was charged with showing me around. He’s from Bulgaria, and his English isn’t great, and he was probably a little too friendly. At this point he’s the only person I’ve interacted with here, and the age and language barriers make me feel a lot more alienated than I should.
The idea of meeting other students is a little terrifying. Okay, a lot terrifying.
(And that was where I ended the blog on Monday, since I couldn’t plug in my laptop. Here’s day 2 (Monday), straight from my journal but with a few more details):

Binny Craig, as seen from the front door of my flat (the EQ center in in the foreground)

Monday Feb 28th
I woke up around 7am this morning. I think I went to bed around 8, and only woke once for half an hour or so – it’s the most I’ve slept at once in a long time!! It seemed to do wonders for my jetlag, though. I struggled to stay awake into the afternoon yesterday, but finally gave in and lied down for several hours just to rest myself. I may have dozed but I didn’t fall asleep, thankfully, so I got a full night’s rest last night.
I took a shower (it was easy to figure out the handle things, but the water pressure leaves much to be desired, the showerhead isn’t adjustable and the curtain clings to you), and was about to fix my hair when Tasho came around to tell me that Barbara wanted to see me in the Resident Reception office. When I got there, however, she said that she hadn’t sent for me, but got a woman named Jo to take me back to the canteen (that’s what they call their cafeteria) for breakfast. I had a sausage sandwich (nothing like sausage in the US – it was similar in texture and color to corned beef and didn’t really taste like sausage), coffee, water (yes! WATER!) and a small apple.
After that I took a walk through the campus, across a small natural bridge that crosses a stream and up a hill by a stone wall where I discovered a sand trap littered with golf balls. From there I took a picture of the main campus area and another of the hillside over Ecclesmachan, a town that is, as I have been telling everyone, literally 2,000 feet or so from one end to the other. I think you could fit 4 Ecclesmachans inside 1 Pheasant Run, and the town would easily fit within the Lake Erie College campus.

________________________Oatridge Main Campus Building____________________

___________________Hills over Ecclesmachan, from the same vantage________________

_________________________Pretty flowers by the sidewalk__________________

Before I left Ohio I was worried that it would be too early in the year to see a bunch of green and that everything would be brown, but I was wrong. There are beautiful hills in three directions from the college campus, and I took pictures of all of them between Monday and Tuesday. It's a lot warmer here than it was when I left home - about 50 degrees Fehrenheit I suppose (they do everything in Celsius here, and I haven't gotten used to it yet), and quite windy, but every morning that I've stepped outside it's been sunny, a bit chilly (warm enough for a hoodie, though) and gorgeous.

I met with Sharon Anderson at 11am, and she had me fill out some basic paperwork and showed me where my classes would be. She then commandeered a student named Susan to come by Cromarty (that’s the name of my flat) and show me around the barn (the “yard”, they call it).
When I got back to my room I set about straightening my hair. Using the 50-watt converter it worked well for about 10 minutes, then the converter overheated and refused to work. I tried the 1600-watt converter, figuring that it would handle anything above 50 and below 1600 without a problem. It made an awful buzzing sound, and the straightener won’t even turn on now. So I only got my hair half-straightened and now I have to either buy a straightener here or find a girl to borrow from.
Perhaps Susan has one – she lives in Cromarty as well – in the flat across from mine, and she came by a little before 3 to take me to the yard. She admittedly talks really fast and has a thick accent, and at times I couldn’t understand her. Jonathon was right when he said it might feel like learning a new language!
I haven’t plugged in my laptop all day – after what happened to my straightener I’m a little afraid to! I think I’ll hop online as soon as I can on a school computer and see if I can find any useful information that will buoy my confidence.
At 4 Susan brought me back to the Reception office to see Allistair Cranston. According to the note that was left on my pillow when I got here he was going to go over residential policies with me, but really he just asked me some questions about my flight and if there was anything I needed. I mentioned my need for hangers and my concerns about activating my phone and using the Internet. He said he may be able to get me a SIM card but that since it’s an Irish phone I may have to buy one. That’s fine with me, of course, as I had budgeted for one.
I should mention that this Allistair fellow is an attractive guy, and very personable. He is not difficult to understand; I’m not sure where he’s from, but he doesn’t quite have a brogue, exactly. He’s Oatridge’s “evening” Megan McKenna (Barbara is here in the daytime), I suppose, but I suspect he’s got a touch of Travis Rose in him somewhere as well. That bodes ill.
After talking to Allistair we went to the library to get my picture taken and get my student ID card made, which is supposed to be used to get me into the canteen but seems superfluous since there’s never anybody there to check IDs.
I went back to my room for a while to read some Sherlock Holmes (and start this journal entry) and a little after 5 Susan invited me to have dinner with her and her friends. That was certainly an experience, to say the least. Three of the six of them came to dinner drunk, and they were a rambunctious lot. The girl sitting next to me was more my type – she hardly said a thing while the others carried on. I think I need to find a group to hang with that’s more… square. Quieter. More pensive. Less drunken.
Susan told me that she does indeed have a hair straightener, and I think she said she’d bring it to me, though I’m not sure when. I’ll probably end up just washing my hair and moussing it. She said if I bought one it would run me somewhere between 18 and 30 pounds. Eeek.
Class tomorrow!

♥SM

What Are You Afraid Of?

_______________(I took this picture literally 3 minutes before posting this)_____________

I’m just over a day out from my flight, and I’ve been a bit fretful. Not that anything in particular is bothering me still – I think it’s a generalized anxiety about the whole experience. So I thought I’d make a list of things about this trip that worry me, in the hopes that it’ll help me feel better.

I hope my flatmate is nice. I have a fear that she’ll be standoffish. Since I only have one flatmate instead of 3, it might be harder for me to meet people.

I hope I have the fortitude to become the new and improved Sarah that Jennie was telling me about. This is related to the above fear. I can be a whole new, confident person in Scotland, and people there won’t know any better.

I hope this sudden spat of awful weather gets better. As of now my flight, and the one from Miami bringing my plane to Cleveland are on schedule, but we’ll see what happens.

I hope that when I get to the college I will be able to figure out where to go to get myself checked in or whatever.

I hope that I don’t get terribly homesick. Just in the past few days I’ve started feeling the impending sting of missing my family. Hoping that Skype-ing with my mom, sister, Kendra, Jennie, etc. will ease that considerably. By the way, if you readers have anything to say, anything at all, don’t hesitate to leave a comment on my blog. It’ll remind me that you guys are still out there. 

Similarly, I hope my family doesn’t get too sad when I leave. I can picture my mom sitting on my bed and looking around my room and crying when she gets back from the airport. That makes my heart hurt just a little.

I hope my checked baggage doesn’t get lost. I can’t help but remember Joanne and Randy’s experience in Scotland a few years back, when they didn’t get their luggage back until something like 4 months after they got back.

I hope I can get my tail in gear and iron out my Sherlock Holmes papers within a reasonable time frame. Similarly, I hope my classes aren’t too hard for me. Anya and Gimpy both suggested that the classes will be easier than they are here. They are really long, though. That could burn me out.

I hope I can deal with the plane ride. I hope my RLS doesn’t harass me too badly, that I can sleep, that if I do sleep I don’t snore too badly, that I don’t get my flight companions sick, that the air pressure changes don’t hurt me too much.

I hope I can afford this trip!!! I need to ask my dad if he can give me some money to replace what I spent on my doctor visit yesterday. He keeps asking me if I need money, so I shouldn’t be feeling anxious about this.

I hope things aren’t awkward when I stay in Edinburgh for Easter break. I’m not a Christian, and part of me is worried that my hostess will expect Catholic leanings out of me.

I hope I can meet some guys while I’m over there. Not that I’m planning on losing my heart, or anything else, to some exotic foreigner (I don’t know that I believe in all this love crap [Hanson reference! Ka-chow!])], but you know, guys in America mostly ignore me. This is related to bullet points one and two as well.

That might be it. Maybe. Even if it isn’t, I think I’ve accomplished what I set out to accomplish here to the best of my ability. Mom hasn’t been acting weird (like telling me horror stories and worrying about me out loud and stuff), which is odd but as long as I don’t think into it too much it’s much less stressful than it would be otherwise. Dad I haven’t heard express an opinion about it recently, and because he’s a man, and my dad, I’m sure he’s trying to hide how sad he is. He did tell me he was a little jealous of my opportunity, which seems to me to be an encouraging sign.

Finishing up watching Masterpiece Sherlock “The Great Game” for the 6th time. Have to call my internship locale and let them know that I accept the job.

That’s a WHOLE new set of fears. For another time.

(Picture of the early birthday cake Cindy and Mom got for me two nights ago)

February 19th, 2011
Birthday/Going Away Party at the Hooley House

Night 2 – Richie Reece

First of all I would like to say that all in all, Kendra and I had fun. Richie’s performance was on par with his usual, but with less drunken heckler action, as he stayed sober for the whole show. There was one caveat which in the end tainted my experience – he promised me a certain song, and never played it. It’s different to make a request of someone, musician or otherwise, and have it go unfulfilled – in this case, I’ve had requests at any given show that Brigid’s Cross didn’t do. But being hopeful is one thing. It’s an entirely different breed of disappointment when expectation doesn’t suit action. I will try to write this with my usual zeal, but if you find it to be fouled up by the faint odor of frustration… it’s Richie’s fault.
When we sat down at our table I learned something that just about shocked my socks right off: Kendra drinks Dr. Pepper now. That’s right. Used to drink Root Beer but turned her nose up at my favorite soft drink, which she now slurps with gusto. Took me by surprise. Looks like she’s finally come to her senses.

___________________Kendra enjoying her barbeque chicken wrap___________________

I had to show her the proper way to dip a Hooley Hunk (you have to cut it in half so that the clean inner chicken-ness is exposed), and savored my very last pre-Scotland Hooley Hunks. Speaking of dipping, our waitress didn’t give me an odd look when I requested extra teriyaki sauce, stating that she dips her food in all manner of odd sauces. I liked her, although I did notice that after she got her tip we didn’t get any more refills. In fact, I hardly saw her come anywhere near our table. That was more than a little annoying, needless to say.
Several songs into the show Kendra noted my characteristic head-weaving (to the music) and laughed at me. Apparently there’s something amusing about my inability to stay still when I hear a beat. And it’s not just music, either. Any steady rhythm can do it. This particular brand of head-weaving seems to be exclusive to Brigid’s Cross shows, and to Richie’s songs especially. I pointed this out to her, and she suggested that I am under a spell of some kind. “It’s magic!” she told me. “You’re like a cobra!”
I recognized two or three of the original songs he did, and took a video of a song called “Whiskey and Rain” that’s quite pretty. Upon playback, however, I noted that it’s a little difficult to hear him over the crowd, but it could be worse.
Kendra’s favorite part of the show was the country covers. When he did “Take Me Home, Country Roads”, a semi-standard with Brigid’s Cross, he insisted that one of the hecklers from the corner behind us come up onstage to sing the chorus with him. His criteria for choosing this particular person? He was wearing flannel; Richie commented that he was required to get in touch with his inner hillbilly. After all, Richie’s inner hillbilly had manifested itself in the form of a five-o’clock shadow and a Bud Light trucker hat. Actually, he called it a beard, although personally I think that was a little generous – he would look funny with a real beard – and the shadow suits him better anyway. Maybe you could call it a 7 o’clock shadow. I attempted to point out that Kendra was wearing flannel as well, and was badly in need of getting in touch with her inner hillbilly, but I went unnoticed (nothing new there). In any event, she threatened to kill me if I succeeded. She threatened to put her coat on.
Speaking of country tunes and drunken people in front of the stage that were lucky enough to have their requests actually played, Kendra also got excited about “Friends in Low Places”, by Garth Brooks. Garth’s lyrics apparently didn’t entirely suit him, and be it through creativity or ignorance of the real lyrics, he amended the final verse with this crowd-pleaser:
“I didn’t mean to cause a big scene
Just wait til I finish this glass
I’ll sit at the bar, and play my guitar…
And you can kiss my aaaaaaaaaassss…”
So, you know how in Friday’s’s blog I mentioned that I’d approached Richie to request a song called “Goodbye Michelle”? So here’s my story, self-indulgent as it may seem to my readers:
Last August I’d moved into my dorm just in time to attend my first Hooley with Richie. Since Jennie was not moving in until the following day, I went by myself, even though it made me feel self-conscious. I was impressed with Richie’s repertoire of original songs, and amused at how a show with him seemed to be even more relaxed than a Brigid’s Cross soiree. He tried his hand at songs he didn’t technically, if you want to be picky, know the lyrics to. Occasionally he would get halfway through a song and say, “Screw this, I’m doing something else,” and he had few qualms about heckling audience members.
At one point he introduced a ballad with the following paraphrased introduction: “This is a song that was written by my uncle, and I’m the only one that’s ever been allowed to sing it.” When he sang the song I was closer to tears than I’d ever been at the Hooley House. It was a beautiful song about a man who experienced heartbreak at a young age, a heartbreak that remained in the back of his mind and colored his life year after year before he finally found a way to get past it.
*Living with emotional pain that has no resolution can influence a person in subtle ways. It takes a lot of energy to smear metaphoric plaster adhesive in the cracks of one’s heart, and trying to silence that pitiful little creature that lives inside. After a while the poor thing’s voice becomes your own, until it starts to affect your self-image. The constant pain becomes easier to live with as time passes, until you can’t recall when that tightness in your heart wasn’t there. You still wish it wasn’t, since it’s always hovering over you, poking at you every so often so that you won’t forget that it’s there, but at the same time it had ingrained itself in your identity so that you fear that erasing the pain would cause you to lose the person you’ve become.
Not that I could possibly know anything at all about that personally, and not that my lack of said knowledge on the subject could possibly be a reason why I liked the song so much.*
Since that August show I have wanted to hear that song again, but at the next Richie show I went to the stage seemed less approachable (to my social phobic eye), as he was flanked on either side by backup musicians. This was true regardless of the fact that I looked really cute that night and was sitting at a table immediately to the left of the stage.
So I approached him on Friday night to let him know that I had really loved that song, but I didn’t know the name of it. All I could remember was the lyric regarding “finding the good in goodbye” and that it had a woman’s name in it. He enthusiastically replied, “Oh, yeah, that one’s called ‘Goodbye Michelle’. Absolutely, if we don’t get to it tonight, I’ll do it for you tomorrow (because I had told him I’d be back with Kendra for his show).”
The table in front of us was just getting up when he started the song “Leaving on a Jet Plane”, and these particular people got very excited about this and decided to stay an extra few minutes. The problem, in my opinion, with this plan was that the tallest of them decided in his excitement that he would stand directly between me and the stage. It was insult on injury when he reached around behind him to scratch flagrantly at his butt.
Kendra and I spent some time during the first part of the show creating a request list. “Goodbye Michelle” was the only song I really wanted to hear, but I added “Straight to Hell” by Great Big Sea because I keep thinking it would be fun to hear Richie do it. Kendra had 8 songs in her request queue: “Chicken Fried” (which I’d seen Richie do before), “The Dance” (which he also does), “Bennie & the Jets” (she was just being funny with that one), “Lola”, “Paradise City”, “Whiskey Lullaby”, “Sweet Home Alabama”, and one other that neither of us can apparently remember. She told me I needed to add more songs to my list because she didn’t like the disproportionate look of our respective lists, so I added his original “Get to the Pint” (a show staple that BC hadn’t done), and “Summer of ‘69” by Bryan Adams and “Pour some Sugar on Me” by Def Leppard, neither of which I’d ever heard him do but both of which he ought to know.
At intermission I gave him our list, and he was his natural enthusiastic self. Looking over the list he again mentioned that “Goodbye Michelle” was on deck somewhere. I left him with Kendra’s request that the waitress bring her his cousin Danny (one of only 2 Hooley Hunks currently waitering at the pub) in a to-go box. Kendra might kill me if she finds out that I put that in here. Or that I told Richie to begin with. *gigglesnert*
Kendra had been up since 5am, and she started to get tired at around 11. Knowing her, I figured that gave me about 45 minutes before the first tremors of grouchiness would start, so I figured that once he did my song we could leave. I didn’t know how long Courtney would stay up waiting for us, as we needed her to let us into the apartment when we got back.
By 11:30 I started getting tired too, having gone to bed at 1:30 that morning and living with a biological clock that kicks me in the butt if I even think about sleeping in. But I hadn’t heard my song yet, and had my camera at the ready to record it when it happened. I was quite excited, thinking that each song that passed meant one song closer for me, and 6 months has already been a while to wait, yeah? Meaning both that I’ve waited 6 months already and it’ll be another 6 months before I’ll have another chance.
The Dancing Nagy made his appearance, rocking out “Johhny B Goode”, which was fun, and Richie announced that the end of the show was nigh. It was at this point that I started to get annoyed. Well, so it would be one of the last songs. Okay.

_____________________________"Johnny B Goode"___________________________

Then we heard “Jack and Diane”, which annoyed me even more because I discovered some years ago that I hate John Mellencamp’s music. At around half past midnight, to the delight of everyone else in the crowd, he sang Van Morrison’s “Brown-Eyed Girl” with Hooley House-inspired lyric changes, then announced that the show was over: “Well, that’s it for us! Thanks for coming out…” etc. I turned to Kendra, her expression mirroring my own. Hey, Richie, the show can’t be over. Aren’t you forgetting something?
The customary bid for applause for his backup drummer and sax player followed – it was indeed the end. I hadn’t expected to be crestfallen at the end of the night, but at that moment I was quite tired, half an hour past being sick of waiting, and thoroughly annoyed. I gathered up my camera and Kendra and I left.
I would like to know what the hell happened (or maybe I wouldn’t – I might be disillusioned).
4 ½ days til Scotland.

February 18th, 2011
Birthday/Going Away Party at the Hooley House
Night 1 – Brigid’s Cross

So as my readership (all 3 – and possibly 5! – of you) knows, my birthday is March 18th. As you are also no doubt aware, I will be leaving February 26th to go to Scotland for a semester. How is that going for me? I started getting nervous several days ago about both of those things which this blog is to be dedicated to. As far as I’m aware, there is no more paperwork to do, tickets to buy, people to talk to (other than Jonathon letting the college know when I’ll be arriving), random travel items to purchase, etc. All I need to do is get on the plane. Well, I need to pack first. And when I land I’ll have to get my visa. Apparently because I’ll be there for 91 days we’re not sure if a visitor visa will be sufficient or if I’ll need a student visa as well, but I’ve been told (See, Jonathon? This is in writing now!) that the good people at the Edinburgh airport will be able to help me out with that, and I shouldn’t have any problems.
As you also know, my favorite local band, Brigid’s Cross, has made a home for itself at a family-owned pub on Mentor Ave. called the Hooley House. Approximately once a month the band (or sometimes just Richie) holds a St. Practice Day celebration, which is essentially an excuse to party and drink and sing Irish songs in preparation for St. Patrick’s Day. I have already lost track of the number of times I’ve been to a St. Practice Day gig, but my rough estimate for Brigid’s Cross shows in general is 40. I’m calling this one 41. Maybe I’ll be able to keep track from this point on.
The reserving of a table for a party of 12 necessitated my being there an hour before show time, and after some confusion and ironing out of details, I ended up riding with Courtney, Courtney (“The Courtneys”, if you will) and Claire. Cindy and Dave showed up at around 8:45 and Rachel, Scott (who also has a March 18th birthday), Tiffanie and Anne-Marie got in just before the show started. Kendra had to work Saturday morning and couldn’t come up until the Richie Reece show on the 19th, Brittanie has had the flu for a while and Richard was just being a poophead and didn’t RSVP. ____________________________Anne-Marie, Me and Scott_________________________

______________________________Me and Courtney L___________________________
_______________________Tiffanie, Claire and Rachel (Gimpy)____________________
____________________________Courtney G and Claire____________________________ ________________________________Cindy and Me____________________________

As is my wont I will now present you with everyone’s favorite part… my bulleted highlights:

Before the sound check started I asked Richie about a song that called “Goodbye Michelle”. I had heard him sing it when I’d seen his show in August and it almost brought me to tears. He told me that he would do it Saturday if the band didn’t do it Friday.

A few songs into the show I pilfered a piece of paper from Claire in order to create a request list. We got “Twelve”♥♥, at which I dutifully screamed, “Lisdon Verne”, “The Scotsman Song” (if you’ve never heard it, you must) in honor of my trip, and of course “Happy Birthday”. Claire got “Johnny Be Fair” (technically they played it right before we sent up our list, but she got it nonetheless), “Drunken Sailor” (“I know what to do with a drunken sailor!” she declared) and the Devil medley. Tiffanie and Courtney G wanted “The Mailman Song”, a tune which tickled Scott to no end.
_________________________Paul and Peggy analyze my note_________________________

At some point when Peggy was playing her bodhrán, Cindy turned to me to clarify what “the little stick that you hit the drum with” is called. When I told her, she said “I should have remember that, but I keep wanting to call it a banger. It’s, you know, a thingy-majibbler. Oh, heck, I’ll just call it a thingy-banger.” This of course brought on a laughing fit on both our parts, during which Cindy’s eyes started tearing up and I was grabbing the three friends I had within earshot so they could hear what a tipper is called as well. Claire gladly joined in, helping me relate the story to Courtney L. Then I told Cindy that that was definitely going in the blog.

Two other people, Greg and Carol, were also there to celebrate their birthdays, although theirs were legitimate birthdays while mine was just a surrogate (I’d planned since last September or so to have a February St. Practice Day shindig). I folded my arms in a pouty manner and pantomimed a breaking heart at Richie when he said I had to share my song with them, but two heart-pieces found their way back together when he told me, “You know this song’s always for you.”

Afterward, when Paul announced “The Scotsman Song”, I had the following exchange with him:
“March 18th! That’s a month away! What’s with that?”
“I’m going to Scotland!”
“Well, how long are you staying there, that you can’t come back and see us?
“Three months!”
“What the heck are you going to be doing for three months?”
“School!”
(At this point there was something said between him and Peggy)
“What does Scotland have that we don’t have?”
“Scotsman!” (was my immediate answer)
“Oh… well, yeah, I guess that’s true… but what else do they have?”
I thought of my next response (“What else do you need?”) a moment too late and I don’t think he heard me. But I was surprised that no one on stage made any cheeky jokes about the content of the song after it was sung.

_______________________I really like this picture. Not sure why._____________________

Cindy was absolutely delighted by Dick Goonan’s performance of “The Rooster Song”. Claire and I had sung it to her while Claire was home with me for Thanksgiving break, and she’d been entertained but thoroughly confused. I was thrilled that she would get to hear it from the man himself, and before too long she turned around to tell me that “It’s WAY more entertaining to watch an old man sing it!” I told her to be happy he wasn’t singing “The Oldest Swinger in Town”, as he has a habit of showing off his nipples during that little number. ________________________Cindy's reaction to The Rooster________________________

Dave was so impressed and entertained by The Rooster’s antics that he had me bring his phone over to where the old man was sitting and ask for a picture. Rather than sit for a picture on his own, The Rooster walked back to our table with me and told Cindy that she was going to be in the picture too. It ended up being the three of us in the picture, but Courtney couldn’t get a picture with my camera because The Rooster wandered immediately back to his seat.

__________________"But then that rooster... he came into our yard..."______________

Cindy and I had a wonderful time when we got to the bathroom to discover Drunken Bathroom Princess, so named because she was plastered and wearing a tiara, drunk-dialing somebody. She was telling the person on the other end, in a slushy voice, that Anne had left, then she told the person on the other end that Anne had left. Then, in case there was something inherently confusing about that three-word sentence, she told the person on the other end that “she” (Anne?) was the queen and that she had left the show early. As Cindy and I were studying her half of the conversation, I helpfully offered, in a voice loud enough so the person at the other end could hear me, “Anne is no longer here!” This caused Drunken Bathroom Princess and to gaze at me with wonder. “How did you KNOW that?” she asked me. I wasn’t sure what to say, confused by her earnestness. “I said something to the effect of “Um… Because you… you said… you just… told me… that.” At that point a stall opened up for me, but I got a synopsis of what happened next from Cindy.
Drunken Bathroom Princess expressed a thirst for water and asked where she could get some. One of the bystanders, probably confused because we were at an Irish pub/restaurant, which are generally known to have potable water on hand, told her that she could probably get some at the bar. Drunken Bathroom Princess spotted a Random Abandoned Tumbler That Had Been Left in the Bathroom, Complete With Stir Sticks, gathered it up and declared, “Well, obviously you guys are too drunk to know that I can just empty this glass right here and fill it up in this sink.” She immediately suited action to word.
When I left the stall and started for the sink there she was, contentedly sipping her sink water while the tap was on full blast. I moved the handle over so I could get some warm water, helpfully (again) letting her know, twice, that she could get ice water from the waitstaff if she wanted some. She told me that the water would “soak up” the alcohol in her system and said not to worry, that she was just going to stay in the bathroom long enough to sober up, when she’d go back out. I wonder if she’s still there.
Cindy didn’t wait until she had all the soap off her hands before snatching up a towel and lunging back into the Hooley House Proper, where we immediately burst into laughter.

I did not get my free Apple Pie shot from Richie, but Dave randomly bought Cindy and me each a shot of something that smelled like Sprite and came with a sugary lemon slice. I tried to get him to explain what I was supposed to do with it, as I honestly didn’t know (I thought I was supposed to drop the lemon in and drink it). Claire and Courtney G tasted the stuff to certify that it didn’t taste that great. Apparently you’re supposed to do the shot then take a bite out of the lemon, which makes sense, in retrospect. I’m sure I’d heard of people doing that before.
Dave also got Cindy a rum and coke and decided to randomly buy me one as well. I discovered was not as disgusting as the one I accidentally drank at my cousin Shawna’s wedding, which tasted, generously, like carbonated cough syrup.
I ended up having two of them, after answering three inquiries from Cindy about whether or not I wanted another in a noncommittal way. After all, I had my water, and could hunt up a Dr. Pepper from the waitress if I felt the need for something bubbly. I’ve never been drunk before, and have no intention of ever doing so, but the sensation that I felt reminded me strongly of the time I strained my neck in my self-defense class in my last year at LCCC and the doctor gave me a muscle relaxer that I later found out was probably too strong a dosage for me. I felt light-headed and light-bodied and walked around like Jack Sparrow for a week. I wasn’t really a fan of that feeling – like a dizzy spell that won’t go away.
At that point I declined any more drinks.

Courtney L, being a Hooley House AND Brigid's Cross virgin, was duly impressed by Paul’s fiddling and Richie’s… umm… well, his amazing Richieness. I also pointed out to her, as I usually do, “That’s what a REAL bodhrán player sounds like,” during one of Peggy’s solos.

Speedo Scott had lost a bet regarding the Steelers’ expected prowess during the Super Bowl… and as a result his fluffy mop of hair was gone when I saw him. I think it makes him look older. We’ll see if he keeps it short.

When I first met Scott I thought he was incredibly arrogant and had no qualms about telling him that he annoyed me. Somehow we’ve reached the point where I invite him to my friendly gatherings, don’t get irritated by his constant bid for hugs and dance with him to “Freebird”, not to mention all the wacky random dancing we did with Tiffanie, Claire and Anne-Marie. I didn’t do that much, comparatively speaking, but it was a record for me for a Brigid’s Cross show.

_________________________________Scott and Me_____________________________

The previous bullet was actually two bullets masquerading as one. I didn’t feel like disentangling them. And now this is a bullet that’s not really a bullet at all, to make up for it.

Cindy and Dave were going to leave around 11:30, just as Paul was announcing the “Fields of Athenry/Freebird” medley. I told Cindy that the show was almost over, and that my experience with the band suggested that they’d probably do the medley, then “Brigid’s Reel Set”, and finish with the national anthems. And so they stuck around, and the show finished as predicted. Dave bought me birthday cheesecake bites as well, which I shared with my friends because I didn’t think I could finish them on my own. Oddly enough, come to think of it, I never did order Hooley Hunks for myself. I definitely will tomorrow, though. Mmmmm… teriyaki Hooley Hunks… nom nom nom…
Afterward a round of hugs went around, Peggy approached to talk to me for a minute and Cindy insisted on snatching Richie for a photo op when I told her that I haven’t yet had my picture taken with him. He scuttled away before that happened. Oh, well. Also, the rug in Courtney’s living room feels amazing against bare feet. I’m going to get up right now and walk on it. Tomorrow I’ll tell you about Richie’s show.
Bye.