A slight departure from the usual report on my activities tonight...
This is from October 5th, and normally I'd say anything from MSNBC is crap, however this is ACE (as we'd say here):
Tuesday, October 31
Friday, October 27
Awkward....
For the first time in my three-year undergraduate career, I ended up in the wrong room for the wrong class. I was trying to be at the Group 6 tutorial meeting for my Statistical Methods Class, in Room 5325 of JCMB, at 4pm on Thursday. This is where I was told to go. Apparently, this is not where I was supposed to be, for after the professor passed back all the graded work, I still hadn't received mine. After checking my name against his various rosters, which mainly consisted of asking me if I was one of the five girls enrolled in the class ("Are you Claire Fergusson?" "No..." "Elaine Rodgers?" "No... maybe check under--" "Let's see, you're Maggie Wu?" "Uh, no..."), my crazy scottish professor determined that I wasn't enrolled in any of his tutorials. I decided to shorten the pain, told him I'd figure out the trouble myself with the course secretary, and dashed out of there. And of course I was the only girl in the room (it's a 2nd year maths course, I mean come on). Nothing says "dumb American" like a blonde with roots in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Did I say roots? Yes. After 9 weeks of teaching swimming this summer, outside 4 hours each day, the sun had gifted my hair with a platinum sheen usually reserved for the beach bunnies and movie stars of SoCal. While this hair color is natural, this is not the color that my hair grows out as. Normally this wouldn't matter too much since I'm out in the sun all the time in California enough so that it more or less balances out, but grey Scotland has taken its toll. So now I've got a nice inch or so of sandy blonde-ness at the base of my mane. Plus my tan's fading too. Come Christmas, I'll involuntarily have a whole new look: pale and dark-haired. (Well, darker haired, I'm not going goth or anything.)
In terms of the weather, it's so windy you have to walk with your head down, ploughing your way through the wind, squinting your eyes lest you get some dust, leaves, or I daresay your own hair blown into your face. The fall leaves are everywhere, though not on the ground very much. It's "raining biotic bullets from the sky" as it was so eloquently put by some of my lovely fellow djs on Fresh Air, the student radio station.
Also went to go see The Datsuns last night, at this really cool little venue, called Cabaret Voltaire. They put on really really good show, and the lead guitarist even came out to the pub with us afterwards! See? It does pay to be in the radio station! The opening band, The Sound Explosion, was quite good as well. It's the first concert I've been to since our John Peel Night, but that doesn't really count 'cause I was working the door half the time -- so I count this as the first proper concert I've been to since coming to Edinburgh. It was good fun, and I absolutely always love live music.
Did I say roots? Yes. After 9 weeks of teaching swimming this summer, outside 4 hours each day, the sun had gifted my hair with a platinum sheen usually reserved for the beach bunnies and movie stars of SoCal. While this hair color is natural, this is not the color that my hair grows out as. Normally this wouldn't matter too much since I'm out in the sun all the time in California enough so that it more or less balances out, but grey Scotland has taken its toll. So now I've got a nice inch or so of sandy blonde-ness at the base of my mane. Plus my tan's fading too. Come Christmas, I'll involuntarily have a whole new look: pale and dark-haired. (Well, darker haired, I'm not going goth or anything.)
In terms of the weather, it's so windy you have to walk with your head down, ploughing your way through the wind, squinting your eyes lest you get some dust, leaves, or I daresay your own hair blown into your face. The fall leaves are everywhere, though not on the ground very much. It's "raining biotic bullets from the sky" as it was so eloquently put by some of my lovely fellow djs on Fresh Air, the student radio station.
Also went to go see The Datsuns last night, at this really cool little venue, called Cabaret Voltaire. They put on really really good show, and the lead guitarist even came out to the pub with us afterwards! See? It does pay to be in the radio station! The opening band, The Sound Explosion, was quite good as well. It's the first concert I've been to since our John Peel Night, but that doesn't really count 'cause I was working the door half the time -- so I count this as the first proper concert I've been to since coming to Edinburgh. It was good fun, and I absolutely always love live music.
Check it Ouuuuuut!
This summarizes our rugby match this past Wednesday far better than I ever could:
http://www.eusu.ed.ac.uk/st/content/newsweek7#WomensRugby
(Plus, we had a great night out afterwards!) Woo, we're famous! Look ma, I'm on the internet!
http://www.eusu.ed.ac.uk/st/content/newsweek7#WomensRugby
(Plus, we had a great night out afterwards!) Woo, we're famous! Look ma, I'm on the internet!
Tuesday, October 24
Tired Tuesday
Still very tired. It's one third rugby recovery (yes, still from Sunday), one third coming down with a cold (*cough*COUGH* pity is nice), and one third dj-ing on the radio for three hours this afternoon. "Say what?" you say? No no, YOU say, "What?" and I say, "Say..." Oh this is getting silly.
Yes, I got to fill a time gap in the scheduling this afternoon, from 3:30-6:30pm, and dj to my little heart's content. Fortunately, I had enough music and a friend came in for a chunk in the middle to chat, so I wouldn't have to dj alone... for three hours.... in the cold, dark studio.... with no water... and only the mice to keep me company.... Ok, seriously, I need to stop.
I'm going to sleep now. My life isn't that interesting, but I'll tell you about it tomorrow.
Yes, I got to fill a time gap in the scheduling this afternoon, from 3:30-6:30pm, and dj to my little heart's content. Fortunately, I had enough music and a friend came in for a chunk in the middle to chat, so I wouldn't have to dj alone... for three hours.... in the cold, dark studio.... with no water... and only the mice to keep me company.... Ok, seriously, I need to stop.
I'm going to sleep now. My life isn't that interesting, but I'll tell you about it tomorrow.
Sunday, October 22
Sunday's a (Glorious) RUGBY DAY!
I. Can. Not. Move. I am SO incredibly tired after today's rugby game. We played a big club side, the Hill Jills (which I'm guessing is short for something, but I don't know what that something is), today in Glasgow. The score is unimportant, suffice to say we lost, but played really well and fought hard the entire time and KILLED in the scrums. I started and lasted all 80 minutes as #5 and spent every last bit of energy I had, barely walking off the pitch at the end. It was glorious. The other team was friendly and played an awesome clean game, which seriously made all the difference. Never before has the sport of Glorious Rugby been so aptly named. (That's a little jab to all the ultimate frisbee players out there... if you can shorten ultimate frisbee to "ultimate," we get to call it "glorious rugby" or simply: "GLORIOUS.") I was also awarded the "Forward of the Match" title for today's game, which was really really cool.
I'm seriously too tired to type any more. Plus I have to go do my dishes and finish a Stats assignment... sigh... I hate having class on Mondays. Or any day for that matter.
I'm seriously too tired to type any more. Plus I have to go do my dishes and finish a Stats assignment... sigh... I hate having class on Mondays. Or any day for that matter.
Saturday, October 21
A very Posh night out
Friday the 20th. October, Autumn. Time for glowing parties after dusk while a chill descends outside. The golden windows exuding the sound of tinkling glasses and honeyed voices from within. A nice picture, but it sounds more like a page out of The Great Gatsby than my own life. First stop, a “P” Party in Cowgate (read: party central), followed by a cocktail party in Marchmont (read: way far across a scary park to be in at night).
For economy’s sake, I dressed for the “P” Party as “Posh” so I could continue straight on to the second function. There were some fantastic costumes in addition to the expected Pirates and Princesses, including Photosynthesis, a Pair of Palm trees, Pippi Longstocking, a Private eye, Punk, and (my favorite) a Public display of affection. Sadly, I couldn’t stay long as my posh transportation to the cocktail party was on a time schedule. In the most elegant terms possible, I boarded a the number 41 bus to make my way safely to Marchmont, whilst clutching my posh £4 red wine I picked solely because it said “Toro!” on the bottle. I may be posh (or at least for yesterday evening), but I’m a bit of a wine dunce – I only differentiate between red and white, corked and screw cap.
One quick, posh public transportation ride later I arrived and, failing to read my own handwriting (was it number 34 or 39?), I headed for the loudest building on the street. My gamble paid off, as karma delivered me into the apartment of smartly dressed friends mixing inventive new cocktails. The invention of the Red Hat cocktail ensued (whose only ingredient I can remember is grenadine…), being named after THE best accessory there, a very fetching red hat. A very good evening, lasting into the wee hours.
Then I woke up this morning still slightly drunk. Poshly, of course.
Trust me when I say that it was no small miracle that I ended up so posh last night. I arrived back at my flat from rugby practice looking like “a crazy homeless person who decided to go run around in the mud,” as my flatmate Maisarah put it. I even had mud in my hair. To the shower! I scrubbed until my legs hurt and then realized that you can’t wash off bruises. Finally, I was returned to my proper clean (posh) state and prepared for the evening.
Oh, and in other news, I just sorta chopped my bangs off this afternoon. Oops. Gotta love that DIY hairdressing…
For economy’s sake, I dressed for the “P” Party as “Posh” so I could continue straight on to the second function. There were some fantastic costumes in addition to the expected Pirates and Princesses, including Photosynthesis, a Pair of Palm trees, Pippi Longstocking, a Private eye, Punk, and (my favorite) a Public display of affection. Sadly, I couldn’t stay long as my posh transportation to the cocktail party was on a time schedule. In the most elegant terms possible, I boarded a the number 41 bus to make my way safely to Marchmont, whilst clutching my posh £4 red wine I picked solely because it said “Toro!” on the bottle. I may be posh (or at least for yesterday evening), but I’m a bit of a wine dunce – I only differentiate between red and white, corked and screw cap.
One quick, posh public transportation ride later I arrived and, failing to read my own handwriting (was it number 34 or 39?), I headed for the loudest building on the street. My gamble paid off, as karma delivered me into the apartment of smartly dressed friends mixing inventive new cocktails. The invention of the Red Hat cocktail ensued (whose only ingredient I can remember is grenadine…), being named after THE best accessory there, a very fetching red hat. A very good evening, lasting into the wee hours.
Then I woke up this morning still slightly drunk. Poshly, of course.
Trust me when I say that it was no small miracle that I ended up so posh last night. I arrived back at my flat from rugby practice looking like “a crazy homeless person who decided to go run around in the mud,” as my flatmate Maisarah put it. I even had mud in my hair. To the shower! I scrubbed until my legs hurt and then realized that you can’t wash off bruises. Finally, I was returned to my proper clean (posh) state and prepared for the evening.
Oh, and in other news, I just sorta chopped my bangs off this afternoon. Oops. Gotta love that DIY hairdressing…
Monday, October 16
The Ugly American
Americans always complain about anti-Americanism abroad, but from what I've observed so far, we pretty much bring it on ourselves. Either that or we're just a sensitive people, taking cultural differences to heart and thinking it means no one really loves us. Yeah right. For example...
Saturday night I went out to a Mexican-themed birthday evening, consisting of dinner at a Mexican Restaurant (one of two in Edinburgh, I think) and then pub and dancing later. For the pub, we decided to go to the old student union, Teviot (which is basically just one giant 5-floor bar), dressed like Mexicans as we were, in ponchos and sombreros (although I, personally, was a "bandita" in boots and leather jacket).
Anyway, we were standing around having some drinks, when an American guy came up and asked Nick where he got his sombrero. Nick was trying to explain what the store was called and where it was, but the American dude was just confused, so Ben (the birthday boy) just came over and interjected that it was from Mexico, that it was indeed a true mexicano hat. And then came the fantastic American reply: "You don't buy no fucking hat like that in Me-hee-co, I been to fucking Me-hee-co and they don't sell no fucking hats like that one. That's a fucking pussy hat." I turned around to see who this fool was; it was hard to tell where he was from based on looks and accent, but I'm guessing he's some old riche New Englander who goes to USC and just happened to go to Cabo for spring break one year. I would label him with a lovely american term that they don't have over here: douchebag. Anyway, I was about to tell him off and ask where he'd been in Mexico, 'cause they certainly sell hats like that in TJ and Ensenada. I decided starting a loud argument of clashing egos would have been even more American, so I let it slide. Too bad, I could have made him look like even more of an idiot, although he did the job quite well himself. He wasn't even trashed -- just inexcusable. I just sighed and sipped my Newcastle, and then apologized for my countryman once he was gone.
Oh, and the picture is "Salty Sombrero," the salt cellar we dressed up at dinner, with Ben's birthday cake and a tequila sunrise. Precioso, no?
Saturday night I went out to a Mexican-themed birthday evening, consisting of dinner at a Mexican Restaurant (one of two in Edinburgh, I think) and then pub and dancing later. For the pub, we decided to go to the old student union, Teviot (which is basically just one giant 5-floor bar), dressed like Mexicans as we were, in ponchos and sombreros (although I, personally, was a "bandita" in boots and leather jacket).
Anyway, we were standing around having some drinks, when an American guy came up and asked Nick where he got his sombrero. Nick was trying to explain what the store was called and where it was, but the American dude was just confused, so Ben (the birthday boy) just came over and interjected that it was from Mexico, that it was indeed a true mexicano hat. And then came the fantastic American reply: "You don't buy no fucking hat like that in Me-hee-co, I been to fucking Me-hee-co and they don't sell no fucking hats like that one. That's a fucking pussy hat." I turned around to see who this fool was; it was hard to tell where he was from based on looks and accent, but I'm guessing he's some old riche New Englander who goes to USC and just happened to go to Cabo for spring break one year. I would label him with a lovely american term that they don't have over here: douchebag. Anyway, I was about to tell him off and ask where he'd been in Mexico, 'cause they certainly sell hats like that in TJ and Ensenada. I decided starting a loud argument of clashing egos would have been even more American, so I let it slide. Too bad, I could have made him look like even more of an idiot, although he did the job quite well himself. He wasn't even trashed -- just inexcusable. I just sighed and sipped my Newcastle, and then apologized for my countryman once he was gone.Oh, and the picture is "Salty Sombrero," the salt cellar we dressed up at dinner, with Ben's birthday cake and a tequila sunrise. Precioso, no?
Saturday, October 14
Thursday + Friday (sans adjectives)
A quick morning note to recap my very busy past couple of days...
Thursday: Like I said in the last entry, Thursday was our John Peel Day event! It turned out fantastically. We got close to 400 people, which is an awesome turnout as well as an excellent fundraiser! We had four bands, as well as Tallah and Kiran from Fresh Air dj-ing in between and after the sets. The 48 and Granger went on first, followed by The Dials (who had someone from a record label checking them out!) and then Aberdeen's The Needles (who just released their album, "In Search of the Needles"). The Dials are a young up and coming band, sort of like a mix between The Arctic Monkeys and The Subways -- laying down some good rock tunes. However, The Needles stole the show and put on an amazing set to a packed house. (And the icing on the cake was that the keyboardist smashed his keyboard at the end of the set. Rather an extravagant gesture, I thought, but apparently it was broken anyway...) Really ace. I highly recommend them, they make really upbeat rock tunes that just border on being totally danceable. I also helped out with the evening as well -- I got there early to help set up, compiled the guest list, and helped set up and work the door for awhile. It was really fun to be on the inside of such a cool event.
Friday: I'm sitting here covered in scrapes and bruises this morning, thanks to a wildly successful Fresher's Rugby match last night, against the Dick Vets. They're called that because the team is all students from the Royal (Dick) School of Veterinary Studies here at the university. I'm not even kidding. And the parentheses are really in the name. Anyway, it was called the Fresher's match because it was only for the new players on the team, most of which are new to rugby. (There were only about 3 of us who've played rugby before, and there were usually only two of us on the field at a time, due to lots of subbing so more people could get to play.) The match was a smashing success (pardon the pun), as we dominated the game and trounced the vets by a lot to nothing. It was only 12s with two 20 minute halves, but we were exhausted by the end. I almost scored a try, but the ref was nice to the other team and called it held up. That's ok I guess; second rowers don't really need to score all that many tries. I did make a lot of steals in the line outs and drive well in the scrum (until we moved to uncontested scrums, boo), so I'm very proud of that. And after the match, some "teambuilding" exercises!
Now I must devote this weekend to studying. Sigh...
Thursday: Like I said in the last entry, Thursday was our John Peel Day event! It turned out fantastically. We got close to 400 people, which is an awesome turnout as well as an excellent fundraiser! We had four bands, as well as Tallah and Kiran from Fresh Air dj-ing in between and after the sets. The 48 and Granger went on first, followed by The Dials (who had someone from a record label checking them out!) and then Aberdeen's The Needles (who just released their album, "In Search of the Needles"). The Dials are a young up and coming band, sort of like a mix between The Arctic Monkeys and The Subways -- laying down some good rock tunes. However, The Needles stole the show and put on an amazing set to a packed house. (And the icing on the cake was that the keyboardist smashed his keyboard at the end of the set. Rather an extravagant gesture, I thought, but apparently it was broken anyway...) Really ace. I highly recommend them, they make really upbeat rock tunes that just border on being totally danceable. I also helped out with the evening as well -- I got there early to help set up, compiled the guest list, and helped set up and work the door for awhile. It was really fun to be on the inside of such a cool event.
Friday: I'm sitting here covered in scrapes and bruises this morning, thanks to a wildly successful Fresher's Rugby match last night, against the Dick Vets. They're called that because the team is all students from the Royal (Dick) School of Veterinary Studies here at the university. I'm not even kidding. And the parentheses are really in the name. Anyway, it was called the Fresher's match because it was only for the new players on the team, most of which are new to rugby. (There were only about 3 of us who've played rugby before, and there were usually only two of us on the field at a time, due to lots of subbing so more people could get to play.) The match was a smashing success (pardon the pun), as we dominated the game and trounced the vets by a lot to nothing. It was only 12s with two 20 minute halves, but we were exhausted by the end. I almost scored a try, but the ref was nice to the other team and called it held up. That's ok I guess; second rowers don't really need to score all that many tries. I did make a lot of steals in the line outs and drive well in the scrum (until we moved to uncontested scrums, boo), so I'm very proud of that. And after the match, some "teambuilding" exercises!
Now I must devote this weekend to studying. Sigh...
Wednesday, October 11
Weegie Wednesday
So today I did some things:
1. Put mesh bags of leaves from different species of tree in the stream in Blackford Glen.
2. Went to Glasgow
3. Played a rugby match!
And now I'm back, obviously. #1 isn't interesting, except in the fact that my demonstrator (what they call T.A.s here) wouldn't let me leave early so I could #2 and get to the #3 on time. Ok, ok, I'll explain myself a little more... We had a rugby match today against the University of Glasgow, in Glasgow. In the pouring down rain. The kind of soul-quenching rain that only (Western) Scotland can provide. Sorry, did I say soul-quenching? I meant soul-SQUELCHING. Every time you thought it couldn't rain any harder, the clouds decided to prove you wrong. Brilliant. The ref was absolute crap, but fortunately the other team was quite friendly, and we still won 68-0. In addition, I did contribute to the points today, scoring a try in my first ever match for Edinburgh Uni. Hurrah! People were calling it my late birthday try, since I didn't end up getting to play in our game this past Sunday.
Unfortunately, I really didn't get to see much of Glasgow, only what went by the bus windows on the way into/out of town. Seems pretty cool, though. People in Edinburgh say that Glasgow's not as nice; that it's not as pretty as Edinburgh. Um, yeah, that's like saying, oh, Yosemite isn't as pretty as Yellowstone. Albeit I wasn't in the bad parts of town, but the bad parts of Edinburgh aren't so nice either... Btw, Glaswegians are, err, affectionately known as "weegies," hence the title of today's blog. ("Glaswegian" is pronounced "glaz-weeeee-jin," for those of you who didn't know. I didn't when I came here... I found out the hard way that "glaz-weggy-ans" don't exist, at least not on this planet.)
It's only 8:30pm, and I'm absolutely beat -- I feel like I've just lived out a week in a day. I've got to scrape some change together to do laundry, as I have no pants left. British pants, that is. Dinner again (or "second dinner" as hobitses would say -- wait, wtf? Did I just reference LOTR? Wow, I AM tired) is also in order, as is some overdue, ahem, studying. I've got a mad Thursday and Friday coming up to finish off the week thanks to radio, so best get that out of the way now. Tomorrow is our event, John Peel Night, a big club night we at Fresh Air are putting on to celebrate Mr. Peel himself, and then I've got a bunch of training and meetings on Friday. Of course I'm looking forward to all the stuff I have to do, and I'd rather just do that than any studying, but you can't always get what you want, can ya?
I would like to say a big thank you to everyone who wished me a happy birthday or sent me a gift or helped me celebrate it in some way -- I had a great time. True, I've been told that 20 is a sucky year, but it's better than being 19! I ended up going out on Sunday evening with the rugby team for the post-match social, as well as to celebrate my birthday, and then again on Tuesday with non-rugby friends. Good stuff. I think I've thoroughly run being newly 20 years old into the ground, and I'm not sure I can handle any more celebrating. At least not for my birthday and not this week.
1. Put mesh bags of leaves from different species of tree in the stream in Blackford Glen.
2. Went to Glasgow
3. Played a rugby match!
And now I'm back, obviously. #1 isn't interesting, except in the fact that my demonstrator (what they call T.A.s here) wouldn't let me leave early so I could #2 and get to the #3 on time. Ok, ok, I'll explain myself a little more... We had a rugby match today against the University of Glasgow, in Glasgow. In the pouring down rain. The kind of soul-quenching rain that only (Western) Scotland can provide. Sorry, did I say soul-quenching? I meant soul-SQUELCHING. Every time you thought it couldn't rain any harder, the clouds decided to prove you wrong. Brilliant. The ref was absolute crap, but fortunately the other team was quite friendly, and we still won 68-0. In addition, I did contribute to the points today, scoring a try in my first ever match for Edinburgh Uni. Hurrah! People were calling it my late birthday try, since I didn't end up getting to play in our game this past Sunday.
Unfortunately, I really didn't get to see much of Glasgow, only what went by the bus windows on the way into/out of town. Seems pretty cool, though. People in Edinburgh say that Glasgow's not as nice; that it's not as pretty as Edinburgh. Um, yeah, that's like saying, oh, Yosemite isn't as pretty as Yellowstone. Albeit I wasn't in the bad parts of town, but the bad parts of Edinburgh aren't so nice either... Btw, Glaswegians are, err, affectionately known as "weegies," hence the title of today's blog. ("Glaswegian" is pronounced "glaz-weeeee-jin," for those of you who didn't know. I didn't when I came here... I found out the hard way that "glaz-weggy-ans" don't exist, at least not on this planet.)
It's only 8:30pm, and I'm absolutely beat -- I feel like I've just lived out a week in a day. I've got to scrape some change together to do laundry, as I have no pants left. British pants, that is. Dinner again (or "second dinner" as hobitses would say -- wait, wtf? Did I just reference LOTR? Wow, I AM tired) is also in order, as is some overdue, ahem, studying. I've got a mad Thursday and Friday coming up to finish off the week thanks to radio, so best get that out of the way now. Tomorrow is our event, John Peel Night, a big club night we at Fresh Air are putting on to celebrate Mr. Peel himself, and then I've got a bunch of training and meetings on Friday. Of course I'm looking forward to all the stuff I have to do, and I'd rather just do that than any studying, but you can't always get what you want, can ya?
I would like to say a big thank you to everyone who wished me a happy birthday or sent me a gift or helped me celebrate it in some way -- I had a great time. True, I've been told that 20 is a sucky year, but it's better than being 19! I ended up going out on Sunday evening with the rugby team for the post-match social, as well as to celebrate my birthday, and then again on Tuesday with non-rugby friends. Good stuff. I think I've thoroughly run being newly 20 years old into the ground, and I'm not sure I can handle any more celebrating. At least not for my birthday and not this week.
Saturday, October 7
Scotland 1 - France 0
Ok, I'm not quite sure where to begin this story, but I suppose the beginning is a good place. Today, around 5pm, I and my rugby sister, Armchair, trotted on over to The Golf Tavern to watch the Scotland vs. France UEFA Qualifying Match (a.k.a. really important soccer game). Arriving just before kick off, we realized we should've gotten there early to get drinks and a place to stand, as the pub was completely packed. There was nae room for e'en a mouse, as I might say in Scots. Anyway, we got a couple of pints from the bar and we situated ourselves downstairs in a room with about 80 TVs facing every which way, so we could see standing about anywhere. The first half passed relatively uneventfully, and finished 0-0.
When Scotland scored, however, the pub went WILD. Absolutely MENTAL. As Paul Hartley flicked it in past the French keeper off a corner kick in the 67th minute, a great roar went up in the pub and everyone started clapping and cheering and yelling "SCOT-LAND! SCOT-LAND!!" That was probably one of my favorite moments since I've come here. It was just so much fun to be surrounded by a pub full of screaming footy-crazy Scots. The guy standing next to Armchair started jumping up and down and shook our hands energetically, giving them each a quick kiss before releasing, (which I found hilarious). When regulation ended, the whole pub erupted in singing some Scottish song, and the jumping guy gave Armchair a huge hug and a kiss on the cheek. And the best part? Free pint or nip of whisky from the pub for a Scots victory!
Of course I was rooting for Scotland from the beginning (and I don't think I would have lived very long at the pub had I not been), but the Scots certainly weren't favored in this match. Hmm, let's see, scraggly struggling Scottish team vs. the World Cup runners up... But seriously the game was truly an upset. Here's the BBC Sport report version. Not quite as much fun as mine, I think.
On a side note, sorry for being such a lazy slag and not posting for a week. Things have been picking up here, as in I've actually started studying and doing assignments for classes. Nah, it's cool, it's just a couple of extra hours of concentration I need to work into my days (instead of just tacking them on at 12am). I'm going to try and put up some pictures tonight, as I'm staying in on this chilly Saturday evening. Why, you may ask? I have an assignment due Monday and I need my rest if I'm going to commit all of my energy tomorrow to celebrating my birthday. Yep, that's right, someone's gonna be two decades old. Unfortunately, what I don't get to do is play rugby on my birthday, since the whole union transfer thing is taking a little longer than expected. Long story short, bureaucracy sucks, but it happens and is generally unavoidable.
When Scotland scored, however, the pub went WILD. Absolutely MENTAL. As Paul Hartley flicked it in past the French keeper off a corner kick in the 67th minute, a great roar went up in the pub and everyone started clapping and cheering and yelling "SCOT-LAND! SCOT-LAND!!" That was probably one of my favorite moments since I've come here. It was just so much fun to be surrounded by a pub full of screaming footy-crazy Scots. The guy standing next to Armchair started jumping up and down and shook our hands energetically, giving them each a quick kiss before releasing, (which I found hilarious). When regulation ended, the whole pub erupted in singing some Scottish song, and the jumping guy gave Armchair a huge hug and a kiss on the cheek. And the best part? Free pint or nip of whisky from the pub for a Scots victory!
Of course I was rooting for Scotland from the beginning (and I don't think I would have lived very long at the pub had I not been), but the Scots certainly weren't favored in this match. Hmm, let's see, scraggly struggling Scottish team vs. the World Cup runners up... But seriously the game was truly an upset. Here's the BBC Sport report version. Not quite as much fun as mine, I think.
On a side note, sorry for being such a lazy slag and not posting for a week. Things have been picking up here, as in I've actually started studying and doing assignments for classes. Nah, it's cool, it's just a couple of extra hours of concentration I need to work into my days (instead of just tacking them on at 12am). I'm going to try and put up some pictures tonight, as I'm staying in on this chilly Saturday evening. Why, you may ask? I have an assignment due Monday and I need my rest if I'm going to commit all of my energy tomorrow to celebrating my birthday. Yep, that's right, someone's gonna be two decades old. Unfortunately, what I don't get to do is play rugby on my birthday, since the whole union transfer thing is taking a little longer than expected. Long story short, bureaucracy sucks, but it happens and is generally unavoidable.
Sunday, October 1
When I say _____, what I really mean is:
British slang is cool. Cool beyond compare to anything the Americans can come up with. However, this isn't my problem. I will soon be able to spew terms like "ned" and "malki" and "knackered" like a pro; what I'm having trouble with is normal words that are just different than those in the US. Apartment equals "flat," fine. French fries are "chips." Ok, got it. I've said the following, to much embarrassment, more times than I can remember:
"I'd like some chips -- Crisps! Please."
"I'm going to put on some pants.... wait -- trousers!"
"I was SO pissed -- I mean, annoyed!"
This whole pants thing is screwing me up the most. The Brits use "pants" as short for "underpants," and sometimes "shorts" for "undershorts." Can't we just call it all "underwear," (or "undies" for short), and be done with it? Bah.
This past weekend I went up to Pitlochry in the Highlands with a group of people from the Edinburgh student radio station, Fresh Air. A hostel there was sponsoring us (yay advertising) so we got to stay for free for two nights, which is always good. We mostly just hung out a lot, ate, did a team building exercise (building contraptions to protect eggs from a drop), climbed the local mountain (Ben Vrackie), went to the pub, and pissed off the other people staying in the hostel by being loud. Good fun. The climb up the mountain was great; my favorite part was getting back down to the bottom and being able to go, "Y'know, that wasn't so bad... I'm really glad I did that!" over a drink and some pudding. The way up was steep, and the climb down was (guess what) also steep. Still, now that I'm not currently struggling up a rocky cliffside, I can say I enjoyed myself, or rather, I enjoyed the overall experience. The views were great, and, as always, pictures to follow later.... (my camera's out of battery, give me a break.) Ooh, and I also learned a really funny drinking game called "Bunnies."
"I'd like some chips -- Crisps! Please."
"I'm going to put on some pants.... wait -- trousers!"
"I was SO pissed -- I mean, annoyed!"
This whole pants thing is screwing me up the most. The Brits use "pants" as short for "underpants," and sometimes "shorts" for "undershorts." Can't we just call it all "underwear," (or "undies" for short), and be done with it? Bah.
This past weekend I went up to Pitlochry in the Highlands with a group of people from the Edinburgh student radio station, Fresh Air. A hostel there was sponsoring us (yay advertising) so we got to stay for free for two nights, which is always good. We mostly just hung out a lot, ate, did a team building exercise (building contraptions to protect eggs from a drop), climbed the local mountain (Ben Vrackie), went to the pub, and pissed off the other people staying in the hostel by being loud. Good fun. The climb up the mountain was great; my favorite part was getting back down to the bottom and being able to go, "Y'know, that wasn't so bad... I'm really glad I did that!" over a drink and some pudding. The way up was steep, and the climb down was (guess what) also steep. Still, now that I'm not currently struggling up a rocky cliffside, I can say I enjoyed myself, or rather, I enjoyed the overall experience. The views were great, and, as always, pictures to follow later.... (my camera's out of battery, give me a break.) Ooh, and I also learned a really funny drinking game called "Bunnies."
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