T.M. Devine

Today, something a little interesting happened, and I thought I would share some of my thoughts. I know that I am writing about school, which is supposedly antithetical to everything that is fun and even the entire point of studying abroad, but I think this worth sharing.

My Thursday lecture schedule is very light: I have a single lecture from 3 until 4. The class is Modern Scottish History, and it is team taught by members from all over the Scottish History department. The first chunk of the course has been taught by Dr. Thomas Devine. He has been my favorite professor so far here in Edinburgh. He is an older guy, who speaks with this quiet and quintessential Scottish accent, and has a very funny dry wit. During the first day of class, the course organizer gave us a brief introduction of him, hes done this and that yadda yadda, hes a big deal so give him respect.  I've really enjoyed his lectures, and today he gave his last one for this class, wrapping up our first section on 1760-1830. At the end of it, he took a very small pause and then said that today was a historic occasion, as this was actually his last lecture. He was about to take a year long study break to finish his last book and then he was going to retire. Choking up for a moment, he then continued jokingly, saying we could all tell our grandkids that we heard the last lecture of Tom Devine. Then he walked out of the classroom. We of course applauded him as he left the lecture theater, but we were soon all quickly back out in the Edinburgh gloom and rain, not 2 minutes later, all going our separate ways.

Now, seeing that all of our reading lists seem to list a couple of articles or books by Professor Devine, I was curious and looked into his background. Turns out, the guy is a legend in terms of British Academia. He has written like 30 books, over 100 articles, and been teaching for like 40 years. He has 3 honorary doctorates outside of all of his real degrees, is the first historian to be a member of all 3 British National Academies, and has been given an award for Academic Excellence by the Queen. And his last lecture, was on a rainy Edinburgh Thursday, to a class half-empty because people skipped because they were too worn out from Pre-Halloween Clubbing. Now, I know life isn't fair, karma really doesn't even everything out in the end, and not everyone gets to end their career with a gold company watch or like Mr. Hollands Opus. But it seemed a little sad to me to watch this old Scottish man trudge out into the drizzling grey streets alone having just ended basically his entire life's accomplishments in front of us.

Not a likely end to one's career

But the thing that sorta made me feel better, and got me thinking, is that earlier in the lecture, he described something peculiar. While referring to a study of Highlandism, he referenced this little island on the west coast (his accent was to thick for me to make out the name of it), where he said he has a very small estate. A house, two beaches, some woods, and eagle eyries that house two families of greater eagles. "Except for the rain, Paradise" he said. He said that was where he really wanted to be. It was the most passionate and heartfelt thing I had ever heard he speak about (which says alot coming from a subject that Scots tend to be passionate about, their own history and culture). And I was thinking about that sentiment, that particularly strong attachment to place, and I think that maybe its going away. Thinking about people my age, my generation, and how mobile we are. Fluid. Studies show that my generation will travel, for our jobs and for vacation, more than any previous. And that we will relocate for our careers more than any other generation prior as well. And a lot of us have trouble even identifying what our "hometown" is. And everyone roots for the Yankees (boo!) and we can't even understand why Milwaukee has a baseball team. We don't seem to have that anchor to land that I am encountering alot more the more I travel overseas. People talk about young americans, and how we are all having a post-modern, or post post-modern (a long time after modern? lets come up with some new words people!) existential crisis. Maybe it's because we don't ever enjoy putting anchors in places? Or maybe we just don't understand why it is important for other people to grow roots somewhere? I don't know, but it is something to think about.

Dave Evan's Hometown

Three guesses where I went this weekend. I'll give you a hint. It's a place renown for leprechauns, being the reason people in Boston like to get into fights, black beer, homemade explosives, shamrocks, explaining half the tattoos on all police officers and fire fighters, and guy named Paul Hewson who has a messiah complex.

The answer is of course Ireland. Specifically, Dublin. And I had a lot of fun. Thanks to Erin for convincing me to go.

Now you may be saying, "Hold on Wade. Your barely two sentences in and your already rattling off cultural stereotypes like some sort of racist machine gun. Isn't the point of study abroad to help break down cultural preconceptions and to help Americans broaden their views on the rest of the world? Aren't Americans ready to move past such petty views of foreign societies? I mean, we have a black president now..." And I say to that: Codswollop! Nah! I have come to view traveling not as a chance to change my perceptions, but to verify my stereotypes. Ireland was most refreshing in this manner. Recently in my travels, I have found myself woefully (waefully, if I am speaking Scots) disappointed in this regard. India, despite what my diligent watching of Johnny Quest would have me believe, was not a land of turbans, temples and elephants. In Italy, there was nary a mobster, mustachioed pizza maker or or vespa-riding-wine-swigging fashion starlet to be seen. Scotland has be tragically devoid of blue-face painted, claymore wielding, bagpipe playing freedom fighters. I was beginning to worry that everything Americans had been taught since birth about the rest of the world was a lie.

Fortunately Ireland restored my faith. Me and Erin went on a walking tour provided by Sandemans New Europe. (Great Guys. If your ever doing some traveling, check them out and see if they do a tour where you are. The tour is free, and the guides are college students working for tips. Some may see this as a way for some enterprising hucksters to play tourists for saps, but these guys have an organization at their backs that vets them.) Our guide gave us an awesome tour of the city, filled with history and culture, both ancient and modern. And he did it all while confirming every stereotype there is about the Emerald Isle. I was pleased to learn that the Irish have a long (and well documented) history of brazenly defying all rules of convention, logic, sanity and sobriety, proudly boasting several botched revolutions, pointless civil wars, important milestones in their history revolving around booze, and a general attitude towards history of "we'll figure something out as we go", "This would go much better with some alcohol" and "Eh, why bother thinking this one through? I am sure it will go fine. I mean, what's the worst that could happen?"

This is the Worst That Could Happen

And they are very proud of it, which makes the country all the more fun. What however, did I actually do? Well the short answer is visit 2 churches, 3 parks, 1 brewery, a whole slew of monuments, (republican and otherwise), walk through the temple bar area, saw where the Bono and U2 got their start in Dublin, crossed the Liffey on the Ha'penny bridge, checked out Dublin Castle, City Hall, Trinity College and Viking ruins.

Hopefully in the next couple days I will get my photo's together and be able to tell some more stories about my time in Dublin. To be continued.

P.S. The plight of Irish republicanism is no joking matter. Please don't let anyone at Sinn Fein known I am writing this.

What I am actually doing...

So I decided to post today on what I am actually doing, since I looked back at my last couple of posts and they have pretty much all been jokes.

Important things I have done in the last week:
1. Did Laundry (2 Loads)
2. Read excerpts of St. Augustine's City of God against the Pagans (Intellectual History Class)
3. Discussed the possible reasoning for William Pitt the Younger's first retirement from the post of Prime Minister (Napoleonic War History)
4. Learned about why Scotland was so important during the 18th century to Britain, despite being only 10% of the population of the British Isles.
5. Wrote a paper analyzing primary source documents regarding the process of urbanization and the rise of middle class consciousness in Scotland during the first half of the 19th century.
6. Made several cups of tea.

Hmm.... Maybe I should stick to jokes....For the record, I had really witty commentary to go along with this list, referencing everything from Godwin's Law to how the Twilight novels have ruined modern publishing. But I decided instead to stick to my list, because I am tired. I'll just let you imagine in your head all the incredibly awesome things that I am doing.Things so awesome that they would make me so tired that all I can do tonight is write a mundane list of my schoolwork and domestic habits.

Things Like This

And this. "By the way, the picture is called flying kilt warrior". Greatest picture title ever.

In other news. I'm heading to Ireland this weekend. I need a Dublin playlist. Suggestions?

Another post on what I consume...

I would apologize to my loyal readers and followers for the lack of updates, but I don't honestly think I can say that I have any of those. I will apologize to the stragglers, those tricked into coming here by a wayward link, or a guilted into checking this out by my shameless promotion of my blog/relation to you. I mean to update this more often. And I will. I promise. Consider this my digital pinky-swear.

While I am on the subject of things done in grade-school, what I am writing about tonight is an activity as old as the ages, a practice handed down by each nose-picking, throwing dirt at girls on the playground and daring each other to eat worms generation of children to the next: complaining about cafeterias.

Although to be fair, its really not just elementary school kids who do it. Adults are perfectly capable of doing it too. We may not grumble in line anymore while looking dismally down at our trays wondering whose idea was to require us to have 3 servings of vegetables on our plate (and why the draconian lunch overlords would choose broccoli, carrots, and cauliflower as those three vegetables). And we don't stare longingly anymore down at Terry at the end of the table, whose greedily clutching his chocolate pudding cup, determining that his mother must really love him unlike our mothers who sold us out to our mid-day-meal fate the evil food service masters who only give out flavors of pudding like banana or butterscotch (why would you even make pudding in flavors other than chocolate?) and who determined that ketchup is a vegetable. But think about it. We still complain about hospital food. And if your eating out, in a place with adults, a "grown-up" restaurant, and you get your food on a tray that has dividers for each part of your meal, you get nervous. Even the mustached lunch-lady who only seems to hand out ladles of slop has become a cultural icon, some sort of running joke on the misery that was our childhood lunches. Anyway, all of this is a long-winded justification for why I am going to complain about the cafeteria where I eat.

Now, another preface, shorter I promise: I like the cafeteria. I'm glad it cooks and cleans dishes for me. There is not a single mustached woman in the whole place. Only Eastern-European immigrants, (side note: there is an unexpectedly large Polish community in Edinburgh. The meat combinations made between the scottish and polish culinary cultures could be awesome. Frightening, dark, horrible, requiring UN-sanctions awesome) and the occasional Irishmen. No, I have only one complaint. And it is one word: potatoes. Every meal, it is possible to get at least 3 or 4 varieties of spud. Now I understand Scottish, English, Welsh and Irish (of both the Northern and Republican varieties) have a long standing culinary relationship with the humble potato. It is definitely a "staple". I also hypothesize it is the reason that we seem to have the same dishes over and over again. Because, a varied menu requires varied ingredients and a well stocked pantry, something impossible to achieve if half of the food budget of the cafeteria is spent bringing in potatoes by the shipping container-load. Now, I like french fries, and baked potatoes, and mashed potatoes. Unlike some of my Scottish and English peers, I do not put all three on my plate and call that dinner. Hopefully, the growing Indian culinary influence in Europe will help break this horrible habit. Maybe one day students will sit down in the Edinburgh cafeteria and have some good Dal. But until then, I am living in Dr. Atkins nightmare.

The Horror!

History

Today I heard an interesting story about some of the history of Edinburgh that was funny enough that I thought I would share.

Back in the 17th century, Scotland was really into its Presbyterianism and understandably so, considering Edinburgh was the heart of the Scottish reformation. The power of the Kirk (what the Church of Scotland calls its churches, I think its an old Gallic word) was pretty far reaching, even into the University. In one particular incident, it was reported that a couple of students from the University of Edinburgh were perhaps holding theological views contrary to what Scottish Presbyterianism would dictate, and were talking about them in their theology courses. Of course the University responded in the appropriate manner to intellectual debate inside of its classrooms: it had the students publicly hanged in the square the next week. Because nothing says dedication to academic integrity than killing your own students. Add the fact that at the time most University Students were between the ages of 13 and 16, and this story gets even more ridiculous. I mean, first of all, I think it is pretty impressive that 13-year-olds were discussing the finer points of Calvinism at all. Now add to the fact that they were probably simultaneously doing most of their studies in Greek and Latin. And that the typical day at University started probably around 5 in the morning. Oh, yeah, did I mention they were 13! Talk about pressure.

Incentive to agree with your Professors

Things going through the head of the typical 17th century University student:
"I hope this acne goes away before the fall dance...I wonder if anyone would like to play football this weekend...that MacLeod girl is kinda cute...better remember to study my greek for my Biblical Exegesis class...Oh, great, now I have to watch what I say around Professor Connelly or he'll have me murdered..."

Guess which of those things I wasn't worrying about when I was 13? So, its a morbidly funny story, but it made me chuckle. Just imagine if this practice of discipline was kept in the modern University setting:

Professor: "Now, who wants to comment on the Douglass article?"
 (Hushed Silence)
Professor: "Anybody?"
(More Hushed Silence)
Student: (stammering) "Per, perhaps he was taking a Marxist interpretation of 21st century politics?"
(class gasps in fear)
Professor: "Marxism? Really? I am sorry Jim, but thats not where I think Douglass was going with this."
Jim: "What? No, I mean, its's... ah No! Don't take me away!"
(Jim is dragged screaming out of the class by TAs)
Professor: "Anybody else?"
(Hushed Silence)

Back in Black Medicine

My apologies to readers who expect more frequent updates. I wish I could say that I had a really good reason for why my posts have not been as frequent, like I have been practicing with my Ancient Scottish Military Reenactment Society friends, preparing for our defense of Stirling Bridge, or wrestling monsters in Lochs, or I have been to worn out from all my caber chucking, but no of that is actually true. I have been trying to ward off a little bit of a cold, but that is about it, as far as pressing things that I have done. However, now I am back in Black Medicine, which I foresee as becoming my primary haunt in the city. Fridays at least it seems I will be able to spend a couple of hours here every week, so I will be able to blog at least once a week.

This week has not be honestly very eventful, however, as I have always heard one should write about what one knows, something that I have been doing, and something that I do know, is breakfast. So, here is a fun little quiz to see how well you know your breakfast.

Question #1
Baked Beans are:

A. Best had with a BBQ sandwich, a delicious side when paired with pork.
B. Probably not the wisest gastronomic choice, due to their ability to disrupt normal intestinal function.
C. A delicious breakfast treat! Good on everything from eggs to toast to sausage. Can be a topping or just eaten plain.

Quetsion #2
Haggis is:

A. A interesting Scottish delicacy. Not bad when eaten during certain culturally appropriate occasions.
B. Best left well enough alone.
C. A delicious breakfast treat! What better way to start your day than a nice hot plate of sheep-innards?

Question #3
Mushrooms are:

A. A tasty ingredient used to enhance fine cooking.
B. Not to bad, for a fungus. A decent pizza topping choice, as long as other things on it to mask the taste.
C. A delicious breakfast treat! A steaming portion for breakfast goes great with your morning coffee and newspaper!

Question #4
Tomatoes are:

A. The bedrock for Italian cuisine.
B. Best in sauce form. And in Ketchup.
C. A delicious breakfast treat. Grill up a couple whole for an energizing start. Nothing says breakfast of champions more than a fleshy luke-warm soggy tomato!

Now, lets see how you did. Hopefully, A and B were the most attractive answers to you.  Unfortunately, the British would answer every question here with C. And obviously, people in the UK could learn a thing or two about food to be eaten before noon. To review, here is a visual reminder.

=   WRONG

Things going on...

...that you don't know. Bonus poitns if you have any idea what im talking about there.

In about half an hour I will go to my last class of my week, officially ending my first full, actual week of classes here. I would have logged a total of 6 hours worth of class time. That is a beautiful thing. Now, granted I spent some more time outside of class doing the prep readings, but it is still beautiful knowing that I am pretty much just expected to know things. No hand holding, no babying. Just read and learn, and be able to talk about it. Liberal Arts rules. So, what have I been doing with the remainder of my time? Discovering the following:

1. Irn Bru

Irn-Bru  is the "other national drink of Scotland", according to themselves. What it is is soda. Very mysterious soda. Very delicious mysterious soda. To be honest, I could not tell you at all what it tastes like. It is sorta like bubble gum. Sorta. The formula is supposed to be a secret, known only by two Scottish guys. Supposedly, these guys can't even travel on the same airplane together, in case the monsters over at Pepsi try to shoot down their plane in hopes of annililating their Scottish soft drink rivals. If there is still a Cola-War going on, Irn-Bru is sorta like the IRA. Except Scottish. Anyway, every Scot over here is absolute bonkers about this stuff, and I have grown to like the elixir myself, its having all sorts of promised properties and effects, of the alchemical ("made with girders!") and mystical (will turn you Iron!") nature. To be honest, I just want to be like this guy:

2. Manure

Now, to be honest, I knew about this particular natural plant-life accelerator prior to coming to Edinburgh, its just my knowledge of it has been fortified. "Why, Wade, have you decided to abandon a life of scholarship at the University in favor for a more pastoral agrestic profession?" you might ask. The answer is a resounding "Nae", which is Scottish for "No, get away from from me before I beat you into haggis stuffing." The reason for my newfound appreciation for manure is that the groundskeepers at the residence halls where I am living decided that it would be a brilliant idea to tear up all the grass pretty much everywhere in the whole complex, and then cover the exposed earth with about a foot of manure. Maybe they are trying to recreate the ancient accademic experience of Highland youth coming down into the lowlands to study at the university, all of them smell like they spend all their time running around heather fields in skirts stepping in cow and sheep droppings all the time (they did). Or maybe they just really don't like us. Either way, our entire building now smells, pretty much everytime you go outside, like Old MacDonalds farm. Ironic Scottish name there...

3. Rain

Not much to say here, other than in Edinburgh it doesn't rain really. Clouds just descend to about waist level. Everyother molecule in the air transforms into H2O, and no matter what your wearing, or if you have a jacket or umbrella or anything else, you just get soaked. Its really fun. Makes me appreciate soup.