Dear readers, this post comes to you from my childhood bedroom--yes, I made it home to Philadelphia, despite a second cancelled flight, a blizzard and the utterly impassable New Jersey turnpike. This is my story.
I woke up in the hotel on Sunday morning, ready to head back to the airport and try the whole shebang all over again, after Saturday's plane- and heartbreaking "technical difficulties," only to find a sign in the hotel lobby alerting all of us stranded passengers that our new flight had also been cancelled, due to the incoming blizzard on the East Coast. We would not be picked up and taken back to the airport, we were told, because we were, once again, unticketed passengers who could not be allowed to clog up the delicate and highly refined workings of the British air travel system (aka, they were tired of directing massive queues of devastated people and preferred just to ignore us). This...was not going to work for me. I took the first cab I could find to the airport and found myself in--what else--a massive queue of devastated people, waiting to talk to the Continental airlines ticketing office. There was no one at that desk, but we could all see them hiding in the back, afraid to come out. But before they even had to do anything as brave as coming out to face the people they had screwed over, it was suddenly announced that the flight was back on! Given our arrival time, Newark was going to let us land. We all proceeded to check-in, which was in itself a massive cock-up, but eventually I made it through security and to the gate. We boarded a couple hours late, but that was still ok, as long as we got off the ground in time.
Readers, we sat on that plane for another hour, while they tried to fill every seat with standby passengers, who otherwise would have been stranded, as all of the next day's flights had been preemptively cancelled. I understand this desire to make sure everyone can get where they need, I really do. But when it literally is coming down to minutes, when the longer we stayed on the ground increased the chances that Newark air traffic control would refuse to let us land--well, you don't jeopardize 200 people for the sake of seven, is what I say. The flight attendants were absolutely frantic, trying to find seats and get everyone on board as soon as possible, and eventually they just refused to let anyone else on, closing the cabin door in the face of the airline representative. Hip hip hooray for flight attendants! They really do not put up with any bullshit.
One upside of the whole standby delay was that I got bumped to first class. I didn't enjoy it as much as I might have (I worried myself right into a chest cold this weekend--yay stress phlegm!) but it was wonderful to be able to stretch out, put my feet up and watch movies as we winged our way over the ocean. Also, there was a cheese and fruit cart, endless free wine, and ice cream sundaes for dessert. You don't get that in economy.
After a long but relatively pleasant flight, we landed in Newark, which was basically a giant white-out. This is when I realized my UK phone was not going to work in the states (duh, right? Well, I'd had other things on my mind), and I was unable to contact my family to find out how to get home. Went through passport control, went through customs, finally found a kind soul to lend me their phone and found out my dad had come to pick me up. Wheewwwwwwwwww...I just knew that if I'd had to take the train, the storm would have broken the lines, or something, and I'd spend the night stranded on the northeast corridor; I had even stolen the airplane blanket and pillow with just that situation in mind.
Met my dad and off we went! Flying down the road toward home and Christmas at the incredible speed of FIVE GODDAMN MILES AN HOUR. Newark is eighty miles from Philadelphia...it was going to take longer to get there than to get to the states from Scotland. Fortunately, things opened up once we hit the Pennsylvania roads, and five hours after leaving the airport (and 36 hours after first leaving my flat in Edinburgh) I was home.
Hugs were had, tears of joy shed, standing rib roast and Yorkshire pudding devoured. Then we opened our presents...considering I almost categorically refused to tell my mother what I wanted, I pulled in a pretty good haul. I know Christmas isn't about the presents (this year it wasn't even about the birth of Christ, since we essentially celebrated Boxing Day) but I am not going to turn them down.
Today I'm supposed to leave for Portland. I don't know if I'll be getting out of here...from my window it looks like there's about a foot of snow, possibly more. And I feel pretty shitty about being home less than 24 hours. It wasn't supposed to be this way. But, I made it home, and I saw my family, and we had Christmas together, finally. For a while there, it didn't look like any of that was going to happen. So I'll take what I've got, and be grateful for it.
Merry Christmas, everyone.
Monday, December 27, 2010
Saturday, December 25, 2010
(Un)Christmas 2010--the bad news
Everything was going so well...cab was on time, line to check in was short, security line was short, coffee was strong and hot, the book I'd brought to read is really, really good. And then they made the announcement. There was a technical issue with our plane, and boarding would be delayed. They would update us on the situation in an hour. So...we waited another hour. And a half. We waited, as more and more people in safety vests walked back and forth through the departure lounge, and the flight attendants started to take off their blazers. We waited, and I though about the train that I was supposed to catch in Newark to make it home to Christmas with my family. And then an airline representative came on the loudspeaker and told us that there was no way the plane was getting off the ground and we should all go pick up our bags from carousel 6. Merry Christmas!
I elected to allow the airline to book me into a hotel. I only felt a little guilty as I covered the University of Edinburgh emblem on my sweatshirt and told the rep that I would need a single room. The tears rolling down my face were real enough, and at least this way I could watch t.v. and have a real meal for my lonesome holiday. And the staff here at the hotel has been absolutely wonderful: we innundated their hotel, over a hundred of us, on Christmas morning, and they have been nothing but accommodating, getting us all rooms quickly and with zero hassle. Though I suppose at this point they must have had quite a bit of practice at dealing with the airlines' failures.
I'm booked on the same flight tomorrow, and this time my whole family is coming to Newark to pick me up. So, assuming I get out of Scotland at all, we can all have the traditional "Boxing Day on the New Jersey turnpike" celebration.
I keep telling myself that things could be worse. I'm in a nice room, had a nice meal, watched a very nice "Cinderella" performed by the Birmingham Ballet Company.
Unless all signs really do point to yes--yes, God really does hate me--in which case I should just ask the airline to pay for a burial plot here instead of yet another adjusted itinerary, since I will clearly die in this Caledonian land. I think I've cried myself out now (thank goodness, because if housekeeper had had to bring one more roll of toilet paper to my room, I think they would have also have felt the need to send up a doctor) and just have to get through the next twelve hours of so. Please, send happy thoughts my way; with those and some fairy dust I might actually make it off the ground.
I elected to allow the airline to book me into a hotel. I only felt a little guilty as I covered the University of Edinburgh emblem on my sweatshirt and told the rep that I would need a single room. The tears rolling down my face were real enough, and at least this way I could watch t.v. and have a real meal for my lonesome holiday. And the staff here at the hotel has been absolutely wonderful: we innundated their hotel, over a hundred of us, on Christmas morning, and they have been nothing but accommodating, getting us all rooms quickly and with zero hassle. Though I suppose at this point they must have had quite a bit of practice at dealing with the airlines' failures.
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| My home away from home away from home. |
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| Nice view, at least. |
I'm booked on the same flight tomorrow, and this time my whole family is coming to Newark to pick me up. So, assuming I get out of Scotland at all, we can all have the traditional "Boxing Day on the New Jersey turnpike" celebration.
I keep telling myself that things could be worse. I'm in a nice room, had a nice meal, watched a very nice "Cinderella" performed by the Birmingham Ballet Company.
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| Even emotioanlly abused slave laborers get to be with their loved ones for the holidays. |
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| Man shoulder...the only (reliable) way to fly |
Unless all signs really do point to yes--yes, God really does hate me--in which case I should just ask the airline to pay for a burial plot here instead of yet another adjusted itinerary, since I will clearly die in this Caledonian land. I think I've cried myself out now (thank goodness, because if housekeeper had had to bring one more roll of toilet paper to my room, I think they would have also have felt the need to send up a doctor) and just have to get through the next twelve hours of so. Please, send happy thoughts my way; with those and some fairy dust I might actually make it off the ground.
(Un)Christmas 2010--the good news
Christmas Eve, for all its strandedness, turned out pretty well. The flatmate and I had exactly three plans for the day: baking cookies, going to church and a nice dinner. Amazingly, given the week that was (and what was to come) things went off without a hitch.
First, the baking. Those of you who have travelled to Europe may already be aware of this, but chocolate chips cost like £100 a gram here. That may be a bit of an exaggeration, but it is true that a bag of Tollhouse chips is roughly equal in value to a third-born daughter. Since neither of us have daughters in any order (and child-stealing at Christmas seems to be slightly lacking in good taste and festive cheer), the flatmate and I elected to buy some Cadbury Dairymilk bars and just smash the shit out of them. Then, frustration vented (oh, if only I had known...), cookies were made. Oh, and also a cherry pie. We repeated our uber-classy "get drunk on cheap wine and use the bottle as a rolling pin" method for preparing the crust. The secret is in the drunkenness.
Then, on to church! We elected to try St. Giles, which is absolutely beautiful, a Catholic cathedral until, as the Catholic flatmate puts it, "that troublemaker John Knox got to it."
Now, visual interest aside, it is solidly Presbyterian and emphatically Scottish. The goals of the service were pedantically clear, as laid out by the minister in lieu of a traditional welcome: "Taenight, we arrr gang tae hear o' thae birrrth of thae wee babbie Jesus, an' sing sam songs, an' we arrr gang tae say sam prrrrayerrrs." He was as good as his word, and we were out of there in thirty minutes, full o' thae mirrrracle o' thae Laird, and ready for dinner.
The flatmate and I had found the Montpelier Bistro while buying cookie supplies, and they fit us in for dinner. It was so good! We shared moules in beurre sauce for an appetizer, then I had lamb with parsnip and prosciutto mash and french beans...mmmmmmmmmm. Flatmate had the special, which was salmon. Whatever.
It was a very classy place, and the service was really good (our order was delayed a bit, but the waitress apologized and comped our drinks, so we both got nicely tipsy while waiting...very good job, Montpelier). They also have an intriguing cocktail menu, so I think we'll be back in the new year.
After that, it was home to bed, as I had to get up early for my flight. And that's when everything went epically, tragically, heartbreakingly wrong. Please stay tuned for "(Un)Christmas 2010--the bad news," in which I recount how I spent the day alone in a Holiday (ironic!) Inn with snot running down my face, just like the wee babbie Chrrrrrist (almost).
First, the baking. Those of you who have travelled to Europe may already be aware of this, but chocolate chips cost like £100 a gram here. That may be a bit of an exaggeration, but it is true that a bag of Tollhouse chips is roughly equal in value to a third-born daughter. Since neither of us have daughters in any order (and child-stealing at Christmas seems to be slightly lacking in good taste and festive cheer), the flatmate and I elected to buy some Cadbury Dairymilk bars and just smash the shit out of them. Then, frustration vented (oh, if only I had known...), cookies were made. Oh, and also a cherry pie. We repeated our uber-classy "get drunk on cheap wine and use the bottle as a rolling pin" method for preparing the crust. The secret is in the drunkenness.
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| Sweet cherry pie. That's inappropriate. |
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| I ate this many. |
Then, on to church! We elected to try St. Giles, which is absolutely beautiful, a Catholic cathedral until, as the Catholic flatmate puts it, "that troublemaker John Knox got to it."
Now, visual interest aside, it is solidly Presbyterian and emphatically Scottish. The goals of the service were pedantically clear, as laid out by the minister in lieu of a traditional welcome: "Taenight, we arrr gang tae hear o' thae birrrth of thae wee babbie Jesus, an' sing sam songs, an' we arrr gang tae say sam prrrrayerrrs." He was as good as his word, and we were out of there in thirty minutes, full o' thae mirrrracle o' thae Laird, and ready for dinner.
The flatmate and I had found the Montpelier Bistro while buying cookie supplies, and they fit us in for dinner. It was so good! We shared moules in beurre sauce for an appetizer, then I had lamb with parsnip and prosciutto mash and french beans...mmmmmmmmmm. Flatmate had the special, which was salmon. Whatever.
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| Haha, it looks like I have kind of wackadoo halo. That's funny if you know me. Also, it's funny because God apparently HATES MY GUTS (see next post). |
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| Pretty flatmate. |
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| MOULES! |
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| LAMB! |
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| Salmon. Whatever. |
After that, it was home to bed, as I had to get up early for my flight. And that's when everything went epically, tragically, heartbreakingly wrong. Please stay tuned for "(Un)Christmas 2010--the bad news," in which I recount how I spent the day alone in a Holiday (ironic!) Inn with snot running down my face, just like the wee babbie Chrrrrrist (almost).
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Emotional stranding, part deux
So, the previous post ended before I intended because the program was being a butthead and you know, I just REALLY CAN'T FUCKING HANDLE THAT RIGHT NOW. Anyway, I've given both of us a few hours to calm down, and am now ready to continue my saga of emotional/air travel abandonment, or, how I learned to stop believing that Europe will ever regain its status as a world power (step one of world powerdom being: don't fall apart at the drop of a snowflake).
When I got home from a dinner and drinks excursion last night, I pulled up my flight information on the Air France website, as I have been doing since Sunday, to double-check the status. Imagine, not my surprise, because no cock-up can surprise me anymore, but my despair to see that red scrawl across the page:
When I got home from a dinner and drinks excursion last night, I pulled up my flight information on the Air France website, as I have been doing since Sunday, to double-check the status. Imagine, not my surprise, because no cock-up can surprise me anymore, but my despair to see that red scrawl across the page:
CANCELLED
I promptly called my mother. Let's face it, you can be the most rational person on the planet, but when shit goes wrong, the first call you're going to want to make is to mommy. This actually worked out fairly well for me, as my mother then proceeded to call every single person at Air France in an attempt to get me on another flight and home by Christmas (I know, I know, I'm old enough to do this for myself, but to be fair, the airline offices over here have completely abandoned ship). Meanwhile, I checked all the airport websites and learned that my flight had NOT, in fact, been cancelled because of the 4" "snowpocalypse" that we'd just experienced, but because French air traffic control had demanded that flights over the country be reduced by 40%, and mine just happened to be one of the sacrificial planes. The flights scheduled before and after mine left on schedule this morning. Oh, and the flight I was supposed to be on from Paris should be landing in Philadelphia in about 15 minutes. I want to throw up.
Anyway, after speaking with James at Air France, June at Air France and Barbara at Delta, my mother got me on a direct flight from Edinburgh to Newark, NJ, on Christmas Day, thus allowing me to avoid the GIANT CLUSTERFUCK that is European airspace. I am theoretically happy about this. I know it could have been much, much worse: I could be stranded (really stranded) in Paris, sleeping in one of the dormitories they are setting up in the concourses. I could be stuck in Edinburgh for Christmas; as it stands I get into Newark by noon (hopefully) on the 25th, and should be in my living room drinking MASSIVELY spiked eggnog by three. But...god, I was so ready to come home. I am so tired of being alone and bored here, and I just want to see my friends and family. I am trying to make the best of it and be grateful for the fact that I'm getting out at all, but right now it's rather cold comfort. And I am SO FURIOUS that in 2010, an entire continent can be brought to its knees by less than 5" of snow. To be fair, Scotland alone of all non-Scandinavian countries is handling itself with aplomb and should be congratulated--Caledonians, I salute thee.
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| Also, if you google "Scottish salute," you get a lot of really, really rude hand gestures. Most being made by Gerard Butler. Or Winston Churchhill. |
So, anyway, I spent the day in my room, watching movies and crying. 'Tis the season. With any luck I'll be back in the states by early afternoon on Christmas and will be able to enjoy a modified celebration with the family. Until then, I will continue to watch movies, self-medicate with various seasonal pastries and occasionally give the other Scottish salute in the general direction of France. Please, gentle readers, keep me in your prayers or goddess wishes or naturalistic reiki-based thoughts or whatever you subscribe to--I just want to come home.
Signing off,
Your intrepid (but rather sad-hearted) blogger
Does emotional stranding still count as stranding?
Well, dear readers, the undesireable (and yet far from unthinkable, given the helplessness of this entire continent) has happened:
Flight status
Information last updated at 2:11 PM Paris time
Sunday, December 19, 2010
King laugh
Okay, so this post was supposed to be another zany, good-natured time-killer about me putzing around the city yesterday and having a really good time watching the buskers and finishing my Christmas shopping and feeling really smug about that, blah blah blah.
And then I woke up and this had fucking happened:
So it's a good thing, I guess, that I've learned how to keep myself occupied with very little here in Edinburgh, as I will clearly not be making it home EVER. Commence forcibly cheerful recollection of yesterday's doings while suppressing onslaught of tears nnn...now.
Hahaha, yesterday was so much fun! Isn't Edinburgh just the greatest city, so fun for Christmas, so nicely decorated? Oh gee, what a great day I had! I had gone down to the Christmas Market again with friends Friday night, and watched them eat amazing smelling cheeseburgers that I was too full even to attempt. THAT is not acceptable, readers. It is a personal vow of mine to leave no burger unturned in the course of my life. So I went back yesterday and got one for moi, and it was AMAZING.
Then I finished my Christmas shopping (smug!) and wandered around a bit more watching the street performers. Most were fairly standard: the inevitable bagpipers, young women in bandanas singing Indigo Girls and not quite hitting the high notes (hint: take the harmony then, dummies; it is, after all, the friggin' Indigo Girls), young men also singing Indigo Girls and, while pitched okay, having a more difficult time with the blatant female empowerment/lesbian lyrics. There were two standout acts, however. One was a...person playing the drums in the park by my school. Good drummer, no doubt, but his schtick was somewhat more complicated than that:
You probably can't tell from that photo...but "he" is wearing a full-body gorilla suit. I think this is a good idea. You fight the sub-zero temperatures, save yourself from the embarrasment of public performance by going incognito, and avoid the profit:hotness ratio that otherwise plagues buskers. Cheers, sirrah.
The other standout I refused to take a picture of, because I would not play his cynical little game. This man had placed himself upside down in the middle of the sidewalk, standing on his head in a bucket. That was it. That was his entire act. When he heard money clink into his cap, he would wave vaguely in a general direction as thanks to the donor. THIS DOES NOT COUNT, I SAY. What kind of talent are we rewarding here, anyway? A miraculous lack of shame or pride? Really strong neck cords? The fact that you're backing up pedestrian traffic for like three blocks? There are STANDARDS to be kept.
Anyway.
Later in the evening I met a friend for movie night, and did we ever pull out the stops! Hot cocoa with Baileys, roasted chestnuts and The Muppet Christmas Carol make for the best Saturday night.
So I was in a great mood as I went to bed, looking forward to two last days of preperation before flying home to Christmas with my family. I should have known better. We've now gotten approximately three inches of snow in the last three hours, which, while that doesn't sound so dire, means that the entire country will once again be brought to a complete standstill until god and/or mother nature takes pity on these poor helpless people. God, MAN UP, SCOTLAND.
I need to go cry now.
And then I woke up and this had fucking happened:
So it's a good thing, I guess, that I've learned how to keep myself occupied with very little here in Edinburgh, as I will clearly not be making it home EVER. Commence forcibly cheerful recollection of yesterday's doings while suppressing onslaught of tears nnn...now.
Hahaha, yesterday was so much fun! Isn't Edinburgh just the greatest city, so fun for Christmas, so nicely decorated? Oh gee, what a great day I had! I had gone down to the Christmas Market again with friends Friday night, and watched them eat amazing smelling cheeseburgers that I was too full even to attempt. THAT is not acceptable, readers. It is a personal vow of mine to leave no burger unturned in the course of my life. So I went back yesterday and got one for moi, and it was AMAZING.
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| The carnival on Friday night |
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| Um, why would people pay to go ice skating when their entire city is one giant sheet of ice? |
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| My burger. I love him. |
Then I finished my Christmas shopping (smug!) and wandered around a bit more watching the street performers. Most were fairly standard: the inevitable bagpipers, young women in bandanas singing Indigo Girls and not quite hitting the high notes (hint: take the harmony then, dummies; it is, after all, the friggin' Indigo Girls), young men also singing Indigo Girls and, while pitched okay, having a more difficult time with the blatant female empowerment/lesbian lyrics. There were two standout acts, however. One was a...person playing the drums in the park by my school. Good drummer, no doubt, but his schtick was somewhat more complicated than that:
You probably can't tell from that photo...but "he" is wearing a full-body gorilla suit. I think this is a good idea. You fight the sub-zero temperatures, save yourself from the embarrasment of public performance by going incognito, and avoid the profit:hotness ratio that otherwise plagues buskers. Cheers, sirrah.
The other standout I refused to take a picture of, because I would not play his cynical little game. This man had placed himself upside down in the middle of the sidewalk, standing on his head in a bucket. That was it. That was his entire act. When he heard money clink into his cap, he would wave vaguely in a general direction as thanks to the donor. THIS DOES NOT COUNT, I SAY. What kind of talent are we rewarding here, anyway? A miraculous lack of shame or pride? Really strong neck cords? The fact that you're backing up pedestrian traffic for like three blocks? There are STANDARDS to be kept.
Anyway.
Later in the evening I met a friend for movie night, and did we ever pull out the stops! Hot cocoa with Baileys, roasted chestnuts and The Muppet Christmas Carol make for the best Saturday night.
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| Only the greatest holiday movie of our time. Stuff it, It's a Wonderful Life. |
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| Roasted chestnuts! How festive! |
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| Mmmmmmmmmmmm... |
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| I give it a thumbs up. |
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| We are not nerds. |
So I was in a great mood as I went to bed, looking forward to two last days of preperation before flying home to Christmas with my family. I should have known better. We've now gotten approximately three inches of snow in the last three hours, which, while that doesn't sound so dire, means that the entire country will once again be brought to a complete standstill until god and/or mother nature takes pity on these poor helpless people. God, MAN UP, SCOTLAND.
I need to go cry now.
Friday, December 17, 2010
Acculturated
Well, I did it. After three months in Scotland, I finally made it to a museum--the National Museum of Scotland. This place is literally a block from my school, and completely free from admission, so the fact that it took me so long to go see it really does represent my own cultural and intellectual failure (I like to take things as personally as possible). Turns out museums are actually a pretty good way of passing the afternoon; who knew?
The pictures that follow are in no way indicative of the extent of the Museum's holdings. They are probably indicative of yet another mental failure on my part, i.e., these are the things that I found interesting enough to take pictures of. You're welcome.
But the most important discovery of all:
COSTUMES!!!!!!! Thank you, Children's Discovery Center (or Centre, I suppose) for understanding what people really want from history: dress-up time.
Having finally exhausted the costume options, we were faminshed. Famished, I say. And having spent the day learning about Scotland's varied and prestigeous history, what better way to refuel than with Scotland's varied and greasy fried food options, all served up on a giant wooden board? The answer is none ways.
So voila, my day of culture and fried foods. Perhaps today will entail more of the same? Although, for the sake of my arteries, I may need more culture and less grease. Which--basically means I am in the wrong country.
The pictures that follow are in no way indicative of the extent of the Museum's holdings. They are probably indicative of yet another mental failure on my part, i.e., these are the things that I found interesting enough to take pictures of. You're welcome.
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| De train! De train! (Yeah, I know that's wrong) |
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| "The Miner's Friends"--hahahahahaa |
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| Tiny little coffins found on Arthur's Seat...creeeeepy. |
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| Commemorative hair arrangements. |
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| Snuff box made out of a ram's head!!!! |
But the most important discovery of all:
COSTUMES!!!!!!! Thank you, Children's Discovery Center (or Centre, I suppose) for understanding what people really want from history: dress-up time.
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| How do you do, good sir? |
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| "I am bashful and feminine" |
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| "I am arrogantly male." |
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| "I am also male." |
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| "But sad and insecure about my too-large doublet." |
Having finally exhausted the costume options, we were faminshed. Famished, I say. And having spent the day learning about Scotland's varied and prestigeous history, what better way to refuel than with Scotland's varied and greasy fried food options, all served up on a giant wooden board? The answer is none ways.
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| What is disgusting is that we did eat all of this. Disgusting and amazing. |
So voila, my day of culture and fried foods. Perhaps today will entail more of the same? Although, for the sake of my arteries, I may need more culture and less grease. Which--basically means I am in the wrong country.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Okay, lost the spirit
Remember my last post? That whole "world is my oyster" celebration of life? IT'S OVER. I JUST WANT TO COME HOME. I curse the misbegotten School of Classics, History and Archaeology for not making it more clear just when our semester obligations would be through. Ooh, wait, I actually have a good curse I've been meaning to use:
"Above, below, the rose of snow,
Twined with her blushing foe, we spread:
The bristled Boar in infant-gore
Wallows beneath thy thorny shade.
Now, Brothers, bending o'er th' accursed loom
Stamp we our vengence deep and ratify his doom...
With me in deadful harmony they join,
And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy line"
Yeah. YEAH. THAT.
Ahem. So anyway, I'm a little bored here. I've almost finished my Christmas shopping which, honestly, was way less fun than it would have been, were I not impoverished. Alas, such is my fate, and such is the crap I bought for my family members. Please don't judge me.
What else happened? I went out with some fellow historians for drinks on Monday, which was not as much fun as it could have been, since I was drinking pints o' diet coke. Still, it was nice to meet up with more people outside of a classroom setting and...talk about every class we had this semester? Apparently you can take the nerd out of the school, but you can't take the school out of the nerd. At least, not without a pretty serious operation, which I think they only perform in the Phillipines. But, I mean, it can be done.
I've also been all over town looking for peppermint schnapps to put in hot cocoa. Not only do the British not carry peppermint schnapps, all they have is peach schnapps (ew), which they pronounce to rhyme with "snaps." FOR REAL, BRITISH? Let's have some class. Though it is comforting to know that Americans haven't completely cornered the market on nasality. Alas encore, I am forced to drink cocoa sweentened with Bailey's, but embittered with my coursing tears.
Ooh, I've found a new band that I like! They're called Le Vent du Nord, and through their music I can simultaneously indulge three of my passions: fiddles, clog dancing and French. Don't look at me like that. Like THAT. All askance. I'm secure in myself.
Ummmm...I took this picture the other day, walking home from the shopping district.
The English major in me suggests that it illustrates the duality of Scottish culture: the prestigious academic, stern religious, and violent clan histories represented by the imposing Scott monument, the fun-loving and playful people best known for the fried Mars bar embodied by the brightly-lit Ferris wheel, less formal and attention-seeking than the London eye.... Then the history major tells the English major that it really isn't socially acceptable to just pull deeper meanings out of your ass like that, and to shut the hell up if what you're saying can't be adequately cited.
Anyway. Yes, I do talk to myself.
Home in six days!
"Above, below, the rose of snow,
Twined with her blushing foe, we spread:
The bristled Boar in infant-gore
Wallows beneath thy thorny shade.
Now, Brothers, bending o'er th' accursed loom
Stamp we our vengence deep and ratify his doom...
With me in deadful harmony they join,
And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy line"
Yeah. YEAH. THAT.
Ahem. So anyway, I'm a little bored here. I've almost finished my Christmas shopping which, honestly, was way less fun than it would have been, were I not impoverished. Alas, such is my fate, and such is the crap I bought for my family members. Please don't judge me.
What else happened? I went out with some fellow historians for drinks on Monday, which was not as much fun as it could have been, since I was drinking pints o' diet coke. Still, it was nice to meet up with more people outside of a classroom setting and...talk about every class we had this semester? Apparently you can take the nerd out of the school, but you can't take the school out of the nerd. At least, not without a pretty serious operation, which I think they only perform in the Phillipines. But, I mean, it can be done.
I've also been all over town looking for peppermint schnapps to put in hot cocoa. Not only do the British not carry peppermint schnapps, all they have is peach schnapps (ew), which they pronounce to rhyme with "snaps." FOR REAL, BRITISH? Let's have some class. Though it is comforting to know that Americans haven't completely cornered the market on nasality. Alas encore, I am forced to drink cocoa sweentened with Bailey's, but embittered with my coursing tears.
Ooh, I've found a new band that I like! They're called Le Vent du Nord, and through their music I can simultaneously indulge three of my passions: fiddles, clog dancing and French. Don't look at me like that. Like THAT. All askance. I'm secure in myself.
Ummmm...I took this picture the other day, walking home from the shopping district.
The English major in me suggests that it illustrates the duality of Scottish culture: the prestigious academic, stern religious, and violent clan histories represented by the imposing Scott monument, the fun-loving and playful people best known for the fried Mars bar embodied by the brightly-lit Ferris wheel, less formal and attention-seeking than the London eye.... Then the history major tells the English major that it really isn't socially acceptable to just pull deeper meanings out of your ass like that, and to shut the hell up if what you're saying can't be adequately cited.
Anyway. Yes, I do talk to myself.
Home in six days!
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Therapy knickers and bulk lint
And just like that, it's all ovah, folks. First semester has come to an end, and I am left with ten days to fill, Caldonian-style, before I head back to the states and Christmas with the family. I don't think three months has ever passed so quickly, but then, mortal fear of failure will do that to time. It's actually a little-known corollary to Einstein's continuum.
So far I haven't done much oot and aboot since Thursday's paper submission-induced panic. I did go shopping with a friend afterward and had my first peppermint mocha of the holiday season, which was a nostalgia-tinged sugarbomb, as always.
We also stopped by my favorite old lady department store, which is all decked out in lights and evergreen boughs...tasteful, as all things associated with old ladies would hopefully, or for-the-love-of-godfully, be (though this is where we found the sign for "therapy knickers." Not too sure about those).
There was mucho celebrating after the official deadline on Friday--"celebrating"--and I spent all day Saturday regrowing my stomach and learning to use my legs again. Oh, the joys of the season.On a related note, the next time I get it into my head to drink an entire bottle of wine, please someone just bludgeon me with it instead.
Today's super-exciting plan is to go grocery shopping, as I have not only eaten all of my food, but most of my flatmate's, while she has been in Berlin. Oops. I've been trying to decide just how little I need to get by until next Tuesday, when I leave, and I think I've narrowed it down to bread, eggs and mayonaise. After the grocery shopping, who knows? It's ALL wild and crazy up in here--I might even clean my room! Watch out, Edinburgh, Katie's got the spirit!
So far I haven't done much oot and aboot since Thursday's paper submission-induced panic. I did go shopping with a friend afterward and had my first peppermint mocha of the holiday season, which was a nostalgia-tinged sugarbomb, as always.
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| The view from the 'Bucks. That's right, it's a castle. |
We also stopped by my favorite old lady department store, which is all decked out in lights and evergreen boughs...tasteful, as all things associated with old ladies would hopefully, or for-the-love-of-godfully, be (though this is where we found the sign for "therapy knickers." Not too sure about those).
There was mucho celebrating after the official deadline on Friday--"celebrating"--and I spent all day Saturday regrowing my stomach and learning to use my legs again. Oh, the joys of the season.On a related note, the next time I get it into my head to drink an entire bottle of wine, please someone just bludgeon me with it instead.
Today's super-exciting plan is to go grocery shopping, as I have not only eaten all of my food, but most of my flatmate's, while she has been in Berlin. Oops. I've been trying to decide just how little I need to get by until next Tuesday, when I leave, and I think I've narrowed it down to bread, eggs and mayonaise. After the grocery shopping, who knows? It's ALL wild and crazy up in here--I might even clean my room! Watch out, Edinburgh, Katie's got the spirit!
Thursday, December 9, 2010
I think I might vomit.
Oh help me jesus, I just handed in all my papers. The urge to purge is overwhelmingly strong. But it's okay...I just need to resist that feeling and the mounting black cloud of doom for the next month.
Someone please tell me that it will be okay. Preferably, this someone should be a figure of academic authority. Like, for instance, my professors.
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| That tiny, vulnerable house=my mental state |
Someone please tell me that it will be okay. Preferably, this someone should be a figure of academic authority. Like, for instance, my professors.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
True stories.
So, I am about 50 hours away from turning in my essays and letting the academic chips fall where they may. I am no longer capable of coherency. I am bereft of coherency. Therefore, and for your reading pleasure, some disjointed observations and occurences from the day:
1) When I woke up this morning, the weather program I use said that it was 7° and I had to check to make sure that the program hadn't accidentally switched over to celcius during the night. It hadn't.
2) Instead of doing any work today, I read lists of the best slasher movies of all time and took a four hour nap. This is ironic (or at best, unwise) considering that the top slasher movie was considered to be Nightmare on Elm Street.
3) I have rediscovered mayonaise in a very big way.
4) I met some friends at a pub for dinner tonight, where we were accosted by a very drunk, Scottish wannabe-Rod Stewart. He called himself "Capable Kenny" (to distinguish himself from his brother, Perfect Paul) and he insisted on speaking in "Shakespearian" English by adding -th to the end of every word. He also bit me.
5) All I want to do is hand in my papers, find some peppermint Schnapps, buy a hot cocoa and engage in some drunk touristy Christmas shopping. 50 hours!
1) When I woke up this morning, the weather program I use said that it was 7° and I had to check to make sure that the program hadn't accidentally switched over to celcius during the night. It hadn't.
2) Instead of doing any work today, I read lists of the best slasher movies of all time and took a four hour nap. This is ironic (or at best, unwise) considering that the top slasher movie was considered to be Nightmare on Elm Street.
3) I have rediscovered mayonaise in a very big way.
4) I met some friends at a pub for dinner tonight, where we were accosted by a very drunk, Scottish wannabe-Rod Stewart. He called himself "Capable Kenny" (to distinguish himself from his brother, Perfect Paul) and he insisted on speaking in "Shakespearian" English by adding -th to the end of every word. He also bit me.
5) All I want to do is hand in my papers, find some peppermint Schnapps, buy a hot cocoa and engage in some drunk touristy Christmas shopping. 50 hours!
Monday, December 6, 2010
NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!
And the airport is closed again. I...I think I'm going to die here.
Also, I had a dream last night that I forgot to hand in my final papers, aka: the only thing I actually need to do this semester. It was terrifying. Actually, I have just formulated a theory that it was my psychological imbalance that caused the snow to fall again. Sorry, Scotland.
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Hope springs...
I feel like I should be holding my breath and knocking on wood and crossing my fingers, toes and eyes while I say this, like some kind of Dick Van Dykian one-man-band of superstitions...but it seems to have finally stopped snowing. It's been almost forty hours now without anything worse than a flurry, and, though I hesitate to bring the curse of the universe down upon myself by saying it, I think we may finally be out of the woods.
This relief has given new energy to my fellow Edinburghers, who can be seen out and about enjoying the snow in a way they haven't since the very first day this whole ordeal began. Granted, cabin fever and carbo loading might have something to do with the frenetic energy to be observed in parks around town (honestly, there is not a loaf of bread left anywhere in the city--even salad croutons are nowhere to be found) I choose to believe that such lightheartedness springs from the eternal renewal of human hope, peace on earth and good will toward men and all that.
Or it could be coming from the fact that the entire city now finds it seasonally and socially acceptable to drink spiked hot cocoa at any hour of the day. And these are liberal spikes, no wee tipples, but hearty floods for "getting fou and unco happy," as Robbie Burns would say. Scots may be flummoxed by snow, but they certainly know how to keep warm.
So things are looking up: snow has stopped, sweet sweet boozing has started, papers are almost finished (perhaps I should switch the order of those last two). And soon I will be coming home for Christmas!
This relief has given new energy to my fellow Edinburghers, who can be seen out and about enjoying the snow in a way they haven't since the very first day this whole ordeal began. Granted, cabin fever and carbo loading might have something to do with the frenetic energy to be observed in parks around town (honestly, there is not a loaf of bread left anywhere in the city--even salad croutons are nowhere to be found) I choose to believe that such lightheartedness springs from the eternal renewal of human hope, peace on earth and good will toward men and all that.
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| Oot and aboot agin |
Or it could be coming from the fact that the entire city now finds it seasonally and socially acceptable to drink spiked hot cocoa at any hour of the day. And these are liberal spikes, no wee tipples, but hearty floods for "getting fou and unco happy," as Robbie Burns would say. Scots may be flummoxed by snow, but they certainly know how to keep warm.
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| This is mostly Bailey's. |
So things are looking up: snow has stopped, sweet sweet boozing has started, papers are almost finished (perhaps I should switch the order of those last two). And soon I will be coming home for Christmas!
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Okay, the excitement is beginning to wear off
Today is the seventh straight dayof snow here in Edinburgh. I'm not as tired of it as some people, since I can walk to class, the market (though there's nothing left to buy there), the pub, etc. I am so eternally thankful that I brought my ginormous hiking boots here with me, for all that they cost me 10% of my 50lb baggage limit. Still, this wasn't how I expected to be using them, tromping through piles and piles of snow.
But while I, unlike many of my fellow Edinburghers, am still mobile, I am getting a bit tired of having bits of ice blown into my face every time I leave the house, and of it taking twice as long to go half as far outside. More than anything, I am amazed that it is still snowing...I've lived through worse storms in terms of total snowfall (yes, I was there for the Blizzard of '96), but I've never been in a situation where it has snowed so consistently, for so long. It's like Norway up in here! On a related note, Scotland's ex pat Scandinavians have been INSUFFERABLE over the last few days, tossing their long blond hair over their broad straight shoulders, showing pearly white teeth in tan faces as they vault over our puny snow drifts. Bite me, Frigga.
Still, it is very beautiful, though the more trafficked routes have become that lovely shade of slush brown; Crayola should introduce that in a crayon. My walk to school continues to put me in mind of Narnia.
I'm just worried about being able to get back to the States, and before you tell me I'm being ridiculous, consider: it has been snowing for a SOLID WEEK, it shows no signs of letting up, and Scotland is not getting any better at dealing with this stuff. Yesterday, I saw the owner of the market across the street using table salt on his sidewalk. Um, no. So I think it is with good reason that I'm concerned about getting out of here three weeks from now. I mean, good god, these people don't own shovels! I've seen more people using dust pans to dig out their cars than I care to think about; the airport doesn't even have a plow. Oy.
Dear readers, please send help. Whether its rock salt, actual snow shovels, prayers, warm thoughts or warm drinks, Scotland and your intrepid blogger desperately need you.
Update: For the love of sweet baby Jesus, WHY WON'T IT STOP????
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| According to my flatmate, I look like Seabiscuit, the legendarily awkwardly shaped racehorse, when I wear these. Spectacular. |
But while I, unlike many of my fellow Edinburghers, am still mobile, I am getting a bit tired of having bits of ice blown into my face every time I leave the house, and of it taking twice as long to go half as far outside. More than anything, I am amazed that it is still snowing...I've lived through worse storms in terms of total snowfall (yes, I was there for the Blizzard of '96), but I've never been in a situation where it has snowed so consistently, for so long. It's like Norway up in here! On a related note, Scotland's ex pat Scandinavians have been INSUFFERABLE over the last few days, tossing their long blond hair over their broad straight shoulders, showing pearly white teeth in tan faces as they vault over our puny snow drifts. Bite me, Frigga.
Still, it is very beautiful, though the more trafficked routes have become that lovely shade of slush brown; Crayola should introduce that in a crayon. My walk to school continues to put me in mind of Narnia.
 |
| The other night, the temperature rose a bit and this amazing fog came up...eerie. |
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| The Meadows on my way to class. |
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| Even when it stops snowing, this is what the sky looks like...no bueno. |
I'm just worried about being able to get back to the States, and before you tell me I'm being ridiculous, consider: it has been snowing for a SOLID WEEK, it shows no signs of letting up, and Scotland is not getting any better at dealing with this stuff. Yesterday, I saw the owner of the market across the street using table salt on his sidewalk. Um, no. So I think it is with good reason that I'm concerned about getting out of here three weeks from now. I mean, good god, these people don't own shovels! I've seen more people using dust pans to dig out their cars than I care to think about; the airport doesn't even have a plow. Oy.
Dear readers, please send help. Whether its rock salt, actual snow shovels, prayers, warm thoughts or warm drinks, Scotland and your intrepid blogger desperately need you.
Update: For the love of sweet baby Jesus, WHY WON'T IT STOP????
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Legit wonderland
Apparently I have entered a productivity trough. The upside is that the blog suddenly appears to be a capital way of avoiding my work, much better than a third shower or another nap, and so new entries may abound as I gradually lose all hope of improving my schoolwork. Yay!
It has been snowing like crazy here since last night, probably five inches worth all told. I think, as long as I live, I'll rush to the window to see the snow falling outside. This morning a bunch of us walked through town to the castle, as it was supposed to be open for free because of St. Andrew's Day, but what did we find when we got there? That it was closed due to "extreme weather"! WHAT?! That's absurd! It's a freaking castle...it was built to withstand cannonfire, for chrissake, and it can't handle a little snow? I think this is a blatant attempt by the notoriously thrifty Scots to thwart those visitors who thought they could get around paying £10 to see Edinburgh's most famous site. Bejabbers.
So instead we went to the city's German Christmas Market (what does that say about humanity--extreme weather may close down historical and cultural inquiry, but will never dampen the sale of mass produced trinkets. No, stop it...there's not to be any cynicism over Christmas. Goodwill toward men starts now). It was really, really fun, with the snow falling, all the lights, mulled wine...mmmmmmmmmmmm.
Now I am home and seriously considering that third shower, anything to avoid my work just a little longer...just a little bit longer...just...a little...
It has been snowing like crazy here since last night, probably five inches worth all told. I think, as long as I live, I'll rush to the window to see the snow falling outside. This morning a bunch of us walked through town to the castle, as it was supposed to be open for free because of St. Andrew's Day, but what did we find when we got there? That it was closed due to "extreme weather"! WHAT?! That's absurd! It's a freaking castle...it was built to withstand cannonfire, for chrissake, and it can't handle a little snow? I think this is a blatant attempt by the notoriously thrifty Scots to thwart those visitors who thought they could get around paying £10 to see Edinburgh's most famous site. Bejabbers.
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| St. Andrew...he looks like a party animal, doesn't he? |
So instead we went to the city's German Christmas Market (what does that say about humanity--extreme weather may close down historical and cultural inquiry, but will never dampen the sale of mass produced trinkets. No, stop it...there's not to be any cynicism over Christmas. Goodwill toward men starts now). It was really, really fun, with the snow falling, all the lights, mulled wine...mmmmmmmmmmmm.
Now I am home and seriously considering that third shower, anything to avoid my work just a little longer...just a little bit longer...just...a little...
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