News of the Weird

I spend a lot of time on the internet at work researching obscure pottery forms and other footnotes in Scottish history. It is about as exciting as it sounds. Today was my lucky day, however, as I stumbled across this gem and found out that the British government owes me 31 trillion dollars. Grad school here I come!

The slogan is what kills me. It destroys me with laughter. Read it in Chris Rock's voice and tell me you aren't laughing too.

Update: there's a book! Click here to read about it. Amazing. I should see if I can dig up the author's contact information; I have some additions I'd like to make. I realize the list is somewhat exhaustive (he blames the British for poverty, the nazis, global warming, and terrorism), but I think that by omitting "no free refills" and "prawn flavoured crisps" he does himself a grave disservice. Seriously, who wants shrimp flavoured potato chips?

So besides planning my financial future I've just been humming along post-exams and enjoying my last few days in the flat. Jamie and I went to see Zodiac last night starring Jake Gyllenhaha and that guy who kept getting arrested for drugs a few years ago. It was very long and scared the bejesus out of me. We had sweet AND salty popcorn and I had a fanta with no ice. It was a big night.

In other news, my father will be here in a matter of hours. He's driving up from Manchester as we speak in fact, and I'm ridiculously excited to see him. He will be the first family member I've seen since Christmas! We're doing a dinner thing in St Andrews with some friends and then tomorrow we depart for a take-no-prisoners two day tour of the highlands. I've spent a lot of time in the highlands over the last few years and I'm delighted that I'll be able to share it with my dad.

Right. I've got loads more pottery to look up before lunch. Have a good day y'all!

The Sun Sets Late and We Go Batty

This photo was taken from my kitchen window at 9:32 pm. What? Well, it sure makes a 16 hour day a whole lot easier. I have no idea what I'm going to do by the end of June when the sun starts setting at about 11. I'll be like Al Pacino in that movie Insomnia where he goes around feverishly taping all the window shades shut.

I talk about work a lot these days, but sometimes I get to hang out with my friends. When you live out in the middle of nowhere you start to make your own fun. Recently we've been dashing to the beach and jumping up into the air. It's pretty cool. I mean, it's no playstation but we have a good time.

We should be on TV or something. It would probably cost about 20 dollars to send us a playstation... plus the cost of the playstation... you know, if you're interested. In a related note: we are going to have amazing calves.

The End.

This is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.

- Winston Churchill

Weird. It's over. I am referring to WWII of course, and not my year in St Andrews.

My year in St Andrews is finished as well, which is also strange; compounded by the fact that all I have to look forward to is a 65 hour work week and no days off until July 28th. Is this the time to reflect back on my year? No, I don't think so, because it's not over yet! Everyone is still in town for the time being and graduation isn't until June 22nd, so I've got a month before it really feels like the end. We are moving out of the flat by the end of the week and I will probably cry, but for now I am happily cleaning up, washing clothes, and pretending I can be 21 forever.

Also, I haven't gotten my exam grades back so for now we can just assume that I failed them all spectacularly and will be forced to move back to Hendersonville and enroll at Blue Ridge Tech. Stranger things have happened.

Oh, and just in case you were sweating it, I'm not shutting down the blog just because the year is over. I'll probably change the name, but the address will stay the same. You know this summer is going to be some funny mess. Plus I haven't been discovered on the internet and fired, so there's always that to look forward to. Out!

Jubilation Squared

If there was any doubt regarding my feelings on the end of my undergraduate career I give you this photo of me high-kicking down Market Street after yesterday's exam. I'm halfway through! I will be completely finished on Saturday, at which point I will attempt a double-axel off the library steps.

In other good news, I got offered a spot at an international auction house in Edinburgh (it rhymes with Schmonhams) in their work scheme. I'll be working in the furniture department. I've spoken over the phone with my new boss a few times and he seems like a capital fellow.

But Lauren, you might ask, how will you work at the FFM and the auction house this summer? Well, I'll tell you. I will work 40 hours a week at the auction house and 21 hours a week at the FFM. I will commute to Edinburgh from Cupar; it's a 45 minute train ride into Waverley and then a short walk up into the new town to the auction house. There is the distinct possibility that I will work myself straight into the ground but I feel like I can do anything for two months. I am interested in the challenge, honestly, and it helps that I'll come out of it with a pretty bangin' resume.

Until then I have to work extra hard at the FFM to get as much done as possible while I still have free time. Today I am researching pressed glass and Collessie school, among other things. I am also wondering if I will ever have a summer break again?

No, It's Not Photoshop

I found it. At last. Brand name clothes at bargain prices. Do you see the reflection of clouds? Well, those are the clouds parting. TK Maxx was actually placed in front of me by the hand of God.

Jamie and I had a big day today. We hit the British TJ Maxx and we hit it good. Funny, it's called TK Maxx... and I really want to know the difference. Wait, I know what it is: I don't run into my 5th grade teacher and fourteen other people I know in the throw pillow aisle at the K. Apart from the name mashup the stores are pretty similar; same stacks of faux-Tuscan candle holders and mismatched lampshades; same overwrought mothers with far too many obnoxious children. In a word, it was glorious! It was the closest I've felt to home in six months.

In other news, I've been finding various and sundry ways to put off revising for exams. My latest hobby is going to the library and walking up and down the art history section pulling books to read that I think will help me next year. I discovered this little gem amongst the Fauves:

I have a working knowledge of post-modernism, at least one that applies well to art history discussion, but the REAL issue in my opinion is finding out who coined "Po-mo" so I can travel to wherever they are and beat the hell out of them. If I have to hear one more self-righteous, converse sneaker-wearing person sigh "it's just soooo po-mo" I will slap a baby.

I have saved the most important thing that happened today (I know! Better than TK Maxx!) until the end. And that is, of course, the release of The Avett Brother's new album, Emotionalism. Most of y'all know that I have been counting down to this for months.... so it was kind of like Christmas this morning; I woke up, ran to my computer and checked to see if the album had been added to itunes. I started the download and ate some cereal and by the time I finished the washing up all 16 tracks were added to my computer, including two bonus tracks! Golly! Better than Christmas! I spent the better part of the morning listening to the new songs and, as Jamie said, "crying softly in the corner." The album was recorded at Echo Mountain studios just outside of Asheville, so on top of everything I felt like a little piece of home was being piped right into my headphones.

See the happy? We are listening to Emotionalism at the bus stop in St Andrews.

I will spare you my blow-by-blow analysis of the album, but I will say that you should probably go out and buy it as soon as you possibly can, if only for "Shame," "Living of Love," "Weight of Lies," "Paranoia in B Major," and my personal favorite of all time and the song the brothers played for me in Glasgow, "Salina." I will say that it's a much more polished sound than what they've put out in the past, so if you were turned off by the ragged barrage of bluegrass/punk/rock/gospel/roots music I probably forced you to listen to at one point or another then this is the one you should go for. Seth Avett is the greatest songwriter alive. The end.

I will leave you with this piece that The Brothers wrote on their website when they announced the release of Emotionalism some months ago. It sums up the album and who they are as artists pretty completely. It also makes me tear up, pump my fist in the air and shout YES; so please, partake:

"This is a time where playing it cool is the way to be. It is a time where people are taught to hold back, to keep their best tricks up their tightly-buttoned sleeves, to guard their love. The days of sonnets spoken to girls in unreachable balconies are behind us, replaced with the new coldness; maybe I'll call you, maybe I won't. In a modern setting where even the satire is satirized, love becomes weakness, tears become a punch line, real laughter a vulnerability, marriage a surrender.

The Avett Brothers introduce 'Emotionalism' today in this very time; a record that marks their position in a livid stance against such mentality. It is a first step in an effort to name and strengthen a procession already in motion; one that wants to write a sonnet, wants to truly laugh, one that says so when it hurts, one that wants to fall in love and above all, wants to admit it with the true excitement that only such a state of heart and mind can create. This spirit rises up against the coldness, against the sarcasm, against the detachment.

The American Heritage Dictionary describes emotionalism as "an inclination to rely on or place too much value on emotion/(or an) undue display of emotion". The structure of the word itself echoes the excessive nature of other terms: alcoholism, narcissism, etc. These words too, offer the image of one that has gone too far. To this end, the terms are the same. Here however, going too far is purposefully done-for a common balance, for something good. The Avett Brothers present the idea that in this era, such display of emotion is entirely due. This is said with an album of songs that mirror the thought. They truly laugh, they love, they say so when it hurts. They stand beneath the balcony and say the best poem they can think of, in hopes that whoever is up there will care to hear.

Emotionalism is a weakness. It is a presentation of a heart-lucid reality to those who do not seek it. It can be mocked. It can be ignored. This record and the group that executed it take part in a voice, singing to the guarded, the scared, the damaged, the emotionless. They will choose whether or not to listen."

YES. YES. YES.
*pumps fist in air

... and isn't Scott's album art beautiful?

Eurovision In A Nutshell

A few weeks ago my Swedish friend Julia mentioned that I should start getting pumped for Eurovision because it was coming soon and boy, was she ever excited. This past Saturday Bridget and I represented the stars and stripes for an otherwise Swedish-heavy viewing of Eurovision 2007. And boy, was it exciting.

[My European readers will have to bear with me as I explain Eurovision to my mostly American fan base]

Eurovision is kind of like what would happen if American Idol and Elton John had a crack baby who grew up to produce his own telivised song contest. Sounds kind of cool, right? Well, if we're going with that analogy, the contestants would be required to write their own songs and also have to be the most cracked-out, sexually ambiguous social rejects imaginable. In costumes.

The entrants might have talent, but most often they will not. Looking good in heavy eyeliner and a bodice of the goth persuasion also helps, but is not entirely necessary. Sounds amazing? I know. Eat your heart out, Kelly Clarkson.

Saturday night we snuggled into Julia's bed and tuned in for what turned out to be the most entertaining three hours of television I have probably ever seen (barring of course Antiques Roadshow marathons, but that goes without saying). 28 countries competed for the win, including such dark horses as Bosnia, Israel, Albania, Montenegro, Belarus, Slovenia, and Latvia. Ten points if you can point to each of those on a map; and I mean really point to them, not say (like me) "isn't it just south of Russia?"

The competition was fierce, with countries like Poland cramming English, French, Italian, and Spanish lyrics into a 3 minute song in a desperate bid for votes. You can't vote for your own country, you see, so most of the competition is about appealing to other countries. All of Europe phoned in their picks during a feverish 15 minute period and a winner was announced around 11 pm to mass hysteria. It's odd how the voting doesn't seem to be based on talent but rather on faded political alliances -- for instance, Malta (a former British colony) gave all its points to the UK. In a related note: the UK finished second-to-last. Blame it on the Eastern bloc?

Anyways, my personal favorite (and second place!) was Verka Serduchka of UKRAINE. I pulled hard for him/her (well, not hard enough to spend 25p phoning in my vote, but still pretty hard) and I still can't believe he/she lost. What kind of world is it where an androgynous man with a giant silver star on his head pulls second place?

I am so, so excited about showing you guys this clip, you have no idea. Please do yourself a huge favour and watch it. You may never be the same:



I know, I know. It's poetry.

Next time you're snuggled up at home in the US of A watching Lifetime or ABC Family I want you to think of me far away in Scotland watching Verka do his thang. Oh, European television; why are you so amazing?

I will end with a clip of the French contenders, Les Fatals Picards. Hey, here's an interesting fact: their costumes were designed by Jean Paul Gaultier. My favourite bit is when the bald man in the cat blazer starts running circles around the stage. Seriously France, get yourselves together; you are a hot mess.




Editor's note: Serbia won, but they were awful and I don't want to dwell on it.

Happy Mum's Day, Mum

Mother's day in the UK takes place in March. That means two months ago when I saw an ad in the card shop reading "Don't forget mum's day!" my panic was mixed with confusion when I remembered having last year's mother's day brunch around the time of UNC graduation. My suspicions were founded, and it looks like today is the actual mother's day for my people.


... And that means my mom gets a shout-out on the blog. Most of you don't know my mom, but those of you who do know that she is pretty boss. I love you, mom. Thank you for your constant support and love, even when my choices take me so far away from home for what feels like, well, forever. I'll be home eventually. Like you say, "home is where, if you come, she probably has to let you in." I miss you so much every day, not just today, but it doesn't help that I know you will be having a tasty brunch with the rest of our family in a restaurant that will probably have sweet tea on the menu with free refills. I can't think of a better way to celebrate myself.

Holy Merde

The Avett Brothers on Conan O'Brien. I just.... I just can't.
Watch. They nailed it.

Youtube! Bless it!

You Know You're In Scotland When...

You get an email at work from a chap named "Ennes Bracegirdle."

He is probably a hobbit.

Passing 'Round the Hat

How many countless hours have you spent being entertained by my blog? How many belly-laughs, eye-rolls, and general sighs of disgust have you had on my account? Well, it's time to do something for me.

First of all, I'd like to shout out to Ernie, my fellow Avett fan, and wish him all the best on this competition as I figure we are probably going to pitted against one another in an epic battle (to the death) of ultimate fandom. And when I say "epic battle" I really just mean whichever of us gets randomly selected by the computer, but whatever, it feels pretty epic to me.

CLICK HERE

... and enter me in the contest to WIN SCOTT AVETT'S BANJO!

What would I do with it if I won? Well, I'll tell you. I would place it in a solid gold box and hang it high, high up on my living room wall forever in an effort to show obescience to the musical gods. Funds are limited right now though, even with the exchange rate, so I might forego the gold box and just have it surgically implanted in my back. Can you imagine? I would be a hit at cocktail parties. "Oh, that's just Lauren. She has Scott Avett's banjo fused to her spine."

So basically it's just any old day at work: listening to some Avett, writing labels for the Scottish pottery exhibit, and entering myself in the fye contest every ten minutes. No big deal.

The Airing of Grievances

Festivus has come and gone this year but that doesn't mean I can't whine and moan a little bit. Hey! Don't roll your eyes! This blog is almost 100 percent buckets-of-sunshine 80 percent of the time, so I think it's time to dwell on things that drive me absolutely nuts about living overseas (and specifically in St Andrews) so everyone can calm down a little bit about how much fun I must be having:

1. The library closes at midnight and at 9 pm on the weekends. What is the deal? My most productive hours are approximately 11 pm - 4 am. I used to spend whole nights in the UL at Carolina watching everyone wig out, eat bagels, and run circles around the computers. I am physically incapable of doing work at 4 in the afternoon in my flat. I end up watching Heroes or making up a new blog template. I need my 24 hour library. The end. (This is my most recent grievance; it's 11:18 and I'm itching to write an essay but I just... can't.)

2. Every single time I spend money I have to multiply the cost by two in my head to account for the exchange rate. This afternoon, for instance, I went to have a tasty wrap at my favorite takeaway spot, Butler's. I can get a chunk of goodness called The Godfather for a mere 3 pounds; it has goat log, parma, rocket, red onion chili, and other... things. So for all that it sounds quite cheap, eh? Well, that's SIX DOLLARS. Then I had to drop my white dress off at the cleaner because someone spilled red wine on me at the Ball. 18 pounds for cleaning. That's 36 dollars. It just goes on and on... Don't get me started on buying clothes. It simply can't be done. 40 dollars for a t-shirt is ludicrous. It costs me 5 pounds to get back and forth from work on the bus, three times a week.

3. I have something called "The Hundred Days Cough." Most of you don't have the pleasure of speaking to me over the phone so you don't get to hear the spectacular hemming and hawing I go through approximately 7 times an hour. It's terrible. I've had it almost three months now. I can't run, sing, laugh very hard, or breath through my nose when I eat. Scotland has made me a mouth breather. And the thing is, EVERYONE HAS IT. Jamie has it, everyone in my classes, all the old people at work... it's just the way we roll in Scotland apparently. I've got antibiotics, nose spray, lozenges, crystals, and travel kleenex. I've been cut down in my prime. Wasting away.

4. All the shops shut at 5:30. All of them. I get home from work at 5:30. WHAT.

5. It takes two hours, two bus rides, and a train to get to the airport. The journey to the airport costs somewhere in the neighbourhood of 20 pounds. And what is that multiplied by two? Yeesss.

6. I miss American food. I miss it, I miss it, OH I miss it. Sometimes I sit in the kitchen and stare at the open refrigerator and realize that I could probably kill a man for a #1 from Wendy's (just cheese and ketchup and a lemonade, please). More than anything I really, really miss southern food. I miss huge portions. I miss biscuits, grits, sweet tea, green beans, the entire Cracker Barrel menu, poptarts, good breakfast cereal (there are roughly 4 cereal choices in Tesco and they all involve wheat or bran), cheese fries, mexican food, good diet coke (they make it with different sugar here and it tastes NAST), pokey stix, Fuddruckers burgers, milk shakes, Boston Market, smoked salmon at my grandparent's house, tater tots, chicken and rice and gravy... oh, I just have to stop. On a related note: I miss American restaurants. I miss customer service and southern hospitality. I miss the ladies at the Moose Cafe in Asheville. I miss free refills. I miss ice. I miss being able to talk to your server and not have them think you are a crazy person.

7. My carpet sheds. It's taking over my life.

8. I MISS HAVING A CLOTHES DRYER.

9. House parties. What is going on? People are so weird about them here. At Carolina if someone is having a party you can pretty much walk up and come in, have a drink, and get friendly. That is not the case here. You have to be invited by the host in person, have an invitation done in calligraphy, and share DNA with at least four other invitees. You absolutely and under no circumstances can bring a friend. Lame.

10. Technology. It's like 1998 over here, for realsies. My office was on dial-up until a few days ago.

11. You have to pay bills at the post office with cash. What is this, a culture of drug dealers?

12. I don't have a car and I live out in the country. Imagine living in Hillsborough or Fairview or some other place IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE without transportation and you have some idea of what it's like.

Sometimes I go absolutely batshit crazy and start running down the road towards Edinburgh, but then my hundred-day cough kicks in and I'm doubled over on the shoulder with 5 pounds (10 dollars) at 6 pm (shops are shut) and a mobile with no reception (technology, also I'm in the middle of nowhere) and all I want is a double quarter pounder with cheese, a milkshake, and a side of cheese fries. I had one of those days today. It ruled.

BUT I REMAIN POSITIVE.

Inquiring Minds Want to Know

I've had a lot of people asking what I do at work. Well, sometimes I get to do a little light reading:

Here are two pages of a diary from Grange Farm in St Andrews circa 1850. It's a breeze to read, let me tell ya. Especially the parts about disease and famine. Those are the best.

Sometimes I listen to Scottish people talking and I think 'that is not English' -- well, reading this diary is kind of the same thing. I spend the majority of my time staring at the words and thinking to myself 'that is just not English.' And it's not. Most of the time it's Scots. Words like 'gulsoch,' 'sneevelak,' and 'shaiptur' are simply not a part of my vocabulary. LUCKILY I was graced once again with the benevolence of David Jones, and now carry this with me at all times:

For real. It exists. If you want your mind blown you should click here, and see what I am now speaking every day at work. On a related note I'm adding 'Scots' to the list of languages on my CV. A friend came to visit a few weeks ago and laughed at me when I spoke over the phone with someone from work. "You have a crazy accent" he said. It's true. I don't know what happened.

Too Much Christmas

The end of term at St Andrews is basically one party after another. It's such a tough life. I simply can't go on this way. Getting dressed up and being served free food and alcohol is just too much for this little blossom to handle. *coughs weakly and holds handkerchief to lips*

Pictured above is a mob of angry, torch-wielding, red-cape-wearing villagers on their way to kill the beast. Or it's the torch lit procession to the castle. Either way, it's not something you see every day outside of St Andrews.

Jamie and I have taken to riding around town on my bike together. It is a tricky maneuver that involves lots of shrieking and Jamie's ability to balance on the rear-wheel rack. Needless to say, we're pretty ballin' and my quads are going to be amazing:

(sunglasses at night)

A group of us went to the Old Course Hotel for cocktails the other night and had a grand ol' time. We made friends with the manager, so now we can go back whenever we want (allegedly) and have all the salted nuts and pitted olives we want. I think we were the youngest people there by about 30 years, as well as the poorest by about 30 million pounds. That's 60 million dollars. The exchange rate, bless it.

Sometimes, after a year of drinking the cheapest alcohol you can find, you just want a drink with a cherry or a wedge of pineapple in it.

Why, those are some wholesome looking young adults.

Last night was THE MAY BALL. Jamie and I are still recovering. I'm not sure if I'm up for describing the May Ball, but I will say that it was on a farm and there were fairground rides, four live bands, and a hot dog stand. A hot dog stand? For realsies. Here are some photos:

This one's for my grandmother...

Love them.

This is Malin, my academic sister. She is from Sweden and she rules.

Lots of kilts waiting in line to ride LA BAMBA

LBDs are for champions.

If you're ever at a formal even in Scotland you can never go wrong with 'What are you wearing under your kilt?'

Works every time.

Rachel, me, Courtney, and Nate.

That's all from Howard Place. I'm going back to bed.

And The Beat Goes On...

Here are some new exterior shots of the museum, taken by yours truly, that will be used on tourism sites across the UK. Exciting! A sneak peak! I know y'all are on the edge of your seats:

The Weigh House. Built in the 1600's, it had three functions: courthouse, prison, and weighouse. To the right of the entrance door are the jougs -- an instrument of public humiliation for minor offenders. There is as pretty sweet collection of weighing machines including many by the Fife firm of John White of Auchtermuchty. The carving over the door was done in the 1640's and shows a pair of scales with the words 'God Bless the Just.'

This is the Extension. It houses the museum shop, the rotating exhibits, the library, my office, and an assortment of bird nests. It was built in the 80's from the ruins of an abandoned bothy and has a ridiculous roof line.

This is the view of the main museum building from the Archbishop Sharpe bridge. The bridge has that name because in 1679 Archbishop Sharpe and his traveling party crossed over it on their way to St Andrews. He was never to reach St Andrews; he was killed by a bloodthirsty band of reformers while crossing Magnus Muir, just four miles from the bridge.

The bridge of death; I walk over it every morning from the bus stop.

IN OTHER NEWS:

I was officially hired at an international auction house in Edinburgh through September! It is not Sotheby's or Christie's and it rhymes with Schonhams) I will be working with the furniture folk and will be starting at the end of May.

I am so ridiculously excited. What a summer!

FACELIFT

Much like the lovely Joan Rivers, I decided I'd had it with my old, flabby blog, so I grabbed those edges and just pulled-pulled-pulled! I know some of you fear change and I apologize for springing this on you without warning. Now that I mention it you should probably see someone about that. Just saying.

Miscellaneous news items:
- My ever-ambiguous art history class on 'Walking Art' has its very own blog. Check it out at the right. And yes, I made it. And yes, I hope to get high marks. It's still in the early stages; my classmates will moderate one week apiece until it is a big ball of awesome.
- My good friend Bridget who pops up on this page quite a lot has started her own blog! It is beautiful, witty, and buxom just like she is. You should probably check it out after you learn about Walking Art.
- I FINISHED UP MY UNDERGRADUATE CAREER TODAY. I mean, at least until exams. Well... and then I guess there's still graduate school in September... so really, nevermind. But still kind of awesome. I guess.
- I have a paper due tomorrow so I should probably start working on that instead of making up things to do like overhauling my blog template.

In other news:
- BBC Radio Scotland called me up yesterday and they've decided to do a show about the museum! It's a 30 minute segment on a show called Grassroots, and it should be airing sometime next week. David Jones and I will be talking about chairs, among other things. I'll post details about how you can listen online. There might even be a podcast! Hilarious.

Everything is coming up Lauren. Except this paper. To the library!

Very Serious Journalism