A few weeks ago

A few weeks ago I managed to lock myself out of my apartment complex.

I left the keys in my apartment, with the door unlocked and ran downstairs for a moment. Of course, the front security door shut right behind me only seconds before I realized my keys were not, in fact, on my person.

It was cold, I was cold and my swearing and stomping around did little to warm me up.

I didn't know a locksmith or how to contact one on a Sunday in this little town so, in desperation, I approached the police officers crowded outside the bakery just down the street.

A large fellow agreed to see what he could do.

I assumed this meant a call to a locksmith. Rather, the officer broke down the door.

Things are certainly different in Scotland.

Do people actually watch that stuff?

Sadly, yes, and I'm one of them.

I'm referring, of course to the seemingly endless parade of "reality" shows that consume television.

While I don't have a television, the invention of Youtube has provided yet another outlet for this genera.

And since there is always an evening plan and work free...

Well, I've been watching America's next top model on Youtube. It's really sad actually that I am entertained watching pretty, tall, skinny girls bitching at each other for almost an hour.

Common sense would tell me to avoid this show. After every episode I feel a bit shorter and pudgier. Course I am compared to a 115 pound 6 foot Amazonian with great skin.

I definitely think that we of the 21st century are simply replacing the circus freak shows of the past by our own television and media freak shows.

When beauty is abnormally tall, abnormally thin. When popularity is incredible stupidity, or clumsiness, or a high note ever off key.

Would you buy a ticket to stare at a bearded woman in a tent? Probably not. But put her safely tucked away behind the shell of a television screen and the appeal is tangible.

A ferverent prayer

Sorry I've been away for a bit.

I've been silently meditating and praying to the experiment gods to speak to the result gods and hand down a lab-worthy experiment-god-like result.

So, while I panic and suffer in silence, I will try and think of a clever post for the coming week!

The whir of blades

Six months of boys pounding on the ceiling, stumbling in at three in the morning, partying to five.

Six months of tittering girls walking into walls and boys forgetting to use their "indoor voice."

Four months of construction below my floor. Incessant hammering, drilling, unintelligible voices blurred by paint fumes and cigarette smoke.

Four months of boards and nails and wood-saws from dawn until near midnight.

And now, a lovey couple beneath my floor talking and laughing and ahem, well you know, far too loudly for my delicate ears.

They were up all night. And I mean alllllllll night. They were still at it when I swore loudly and gave up any attempt to sleep through two pillows and a comforter around seven thirty this morning.

So rather than carry out my dark plan of revenge upon these neighbors I have bought a desk fan.

Living in New York City, I found that the best way to block out a city that never sleeps is by adding a little white noise to the mix.

Tonight there will be no boys missing doorways, no giggly college girls, no far-too-into-each-other couples.

There will only be the soft whir of blades.

A long way from Mexico

I did not move to Scotland for the food.

Delectable cuisine is not what one expects from this country. No one goes to Scotland for the food. They go for the kilts and the bagpipes. They go for the countryside, the large sloping mountains, the shiny rivers, the quaint accent.

So, when we ventured out to a Mexican restaurant last week, I did not have high hopes. I expected a decent margarita, some mild salsa, interesting haggis tacos....none of which appeared.

It turns out that this Mexican restaurant had run out of tequila. On a Friday night. By 8pm.

The menu sported "chips," burgers, a couple curry dishes, sweet chili prawns, spring rolls and a few main Chinese dishes. These were happily displayed right along side the more familiar Mexican dishes such as tacos, enchiladas, burritos, and fajitas.

There was no salsa.

The guacamole was suspicious to say the least, and the sour cream was neither sour, nor much of a cream, mostly it was a hard, white ball that rolled off the plate onto the floor.

On the bright side my chicken enchilada was nice. The chicken wasn't dry and the sauce tasted pretty good. I would never go so far as to qualify it as a Mexican dish, but at least it was tasty alongside my vodka cocktail.