If you're following the World Cup, you may have noticed that today, and tomorrow, several critical matches are scheduled for the exact same time. That's a bit of a head-scratcher: after all, you only get so many World Cup matches. Why not let us see all of them - and of course benefit from the increased ad revenue?
You're going to need a bit of soccer background here.
The World Cup plays in two stages: a seeded tournament, in which the top two teams (of four) in each group advance, and a sudden death elimination tournament. We're nearing the end of stage 1. Each team in the group plays the other once - this year, the USA plays Slovenia, England, and Algeria. You get three points for a win, one point for a draw, and no points for a loss. At the moment, this group is completely up in the air. Basically, whichever teams win tomorrow will advance, except Algeria, which will need a little outside help. When points are equal (for instance, two teams both have three points), the tie breaker is goals scored.
Right, you're saying. That makes it even dumber that the Slovenia-England happens at the same time as USA-Algeria. I can't watch the other game I care about because the game I care about is on!
Well, there's a reason for it.
In 1983, another group was in a near lock. Algeria had already defeated Chile, and was waiting for West Germany to play Austria. If Germany won and scored more than three goals, Germany and Algeria would advance. If Germany and Austria drew, or if Germany lost, then Austria and Algeria would advance. And the goals-scored tiebreaker system left one weird loophole in the middle. If Germany won and scored precisely one or two goals, both Germany and Austria would advance, leaving Algeria out.
Would you be shocked to find out that the final score was Germany 1, Austria 0?
And this wasn't even subtle: Germany scored 10 minutes in, and the teams just futzed around for another 80 minutes. The Algerians were incensed; German and Austrian fans were incensed (with one fan reportedly burning his own German flag); and the game-watching general public were incensed. FIFA (that's the ruling body for the World Cup) decided to allow the game to stand, but in all subsequent World Cups, the final games have been played simultaneously to avoid this sort of "gentleman's agreement" (which, to my historian's amusement, appears to be nicknamed the "non-aggression pact.")
So tomorrow, if you are watching and grumbling about changing channels to check both scores, look at it this way: At least if Algeria gets eliminated this year, it will have happened honestly.
Showing posts with label culture. Show all posts
Showing posts with label culture. Show all posts
23 June 2010
13 June 2010
Science Daily says: "Scottish people 'living dangerously'"
From an article on Science Daily, via Fark.com:
From a purely anecdotal standpoint, I'd bet it's the "heavy drinkers" that caught most Scots in this very wide net. But I'd imagine the numbers for much of the US would look similarly grim, just with fewer drinkers and smokers but more overweight, physically inactive, bad eaters.
Then again, 97.5% is a lot of %!
Almost the entire adult population of Scotland (97.5%) are likely to be either cigarette smokers, heavy drinkers, physically inactive, overweight or have a poor diet, according to a new study.
From a purely anecdotal standpoint, I'd bet it's the "heavy drinkers" that caught most Scots in this very wide net. But I'd imagine the numbers for much of the US would look similarly grim, just with fewer drinkers and smokers but more overweight, physically inactive, bad eaters.
Then again, 97.5% is a lot of %!
12 June 2010
USA! USA! US- wait, what?
England plays the USA in World Cup soccer tonight. The World Cup is a big freaking deal over here - this is Europe, after all, at least sort of - but England hasn't won since 1966 and really isn't expected to win this year either. Slate has an article up arguing that for England fans, true World Cup suspense comes not from wondering if England will win, but from wondering in what depressing fashion England will exit this year.
Which got me thinking: Where is the suspense for average Americans in the World Cup?
- Believing that this, finally, is the year they will learn the rules
- Believing that this, finally, is the year they will learn the name of an American player who's not Landon Donovan. Or actually learning who Landon Donovan is.
- Hoping Brandi Chastain will take her shirt off again, only to realize this is the bad kind of World Cup - the kind with men, which we don't win.
- Discovering if World Cup football is real football or Communist plot kind
- Wondering why this is all going on when honestly, didn't we just have an Olympics?
- Trying to figure out what channel the game is on.
- Trying to understand the commentary before realizing that the game is in fact on ESPNDeportes, and it's not in English
- Getting pissed off when it becomes clear that a tie is an acceptable outcome in the world's highest-stakes tournament
- Waiting for that hipster in the bar to bust out with exasperated superiority about how soccer is superior because it's a game of skill, or how the US needs to like soccer for the sake of global citizenship, and refusing to refer to it as soccer even though that just confuses the bejeesus out of everybody. And then punching that guy in the face.
For Americans actually intending to take a stab at watching the World Cup, I suggest this excellent blog post comparing international teams to prominent US sports franchises. Sample helpful commentary: England has "won it all exactly one time, and that was way back in the '60s. Since then, they haven’t even finished second. Yet they talk and talk and deify the main man behind that '60s win." Clearly, England is the New York Jets.
Which got me thinking: Where is the suspense for average Americans in the World Cup?
- Believing that this, finally, is the year they will learn the rules
- Believing that this, finally, is the year they will learn the name of an American player who's not Landon Donovan. Or actually learning who Landon Donovan is.
- Hoping Brandi Chastain will take her shirt off again, only to realize this is the bad kind of World Cup - the kind with men, which we don't win.
- Discovering if World Cup football is real football or Communist plot kind
- Wondering why this is all going on when honestly, didn't we just have an Olympics?
- Trying to figure out what channel the game is on.
- Trying to understand the commentary before realizing that the game is in fact on ESPNDeportes, and it's not in English
- Getting pissed off when it becomes clear that a tie is an acceptable outcome in the world's highest-stakes tournament
- Waiting for that hipster in the bar to bust out with exasperated superiority about how soccer is superior because it's a game of skill, or how the US needs to like soccer for the sake of global citizenship, and refusing to refer to it as soccer even though that just confuses the bejeesus out of everybody. And then punching that guy in the face.
For Americans actually intending to take a stab at watching the World Cup, I suggest this excellent blog post comparing international teams to prominent US sports franchises. Sample helpful commentary: England has "won it all exactly one time, and that was way back in the '60s. Since then, they haven’t even finished second. Yet they talk and talk and deify the main man behind that '60s win." Clearly, England is the New York Jets.
24 May 2010
Canadian Kilt Kerfluffle (via BoingBoing)
BoingBoing has posted a story about a high-school senior in Alberta who was denied permission to wear a kilt to his graduation. The student is of Scottish extraction, and his principal appears to be completely unaware of or sympathetic to a style of formal dress common not only in Scotland but across Canada, too.
Then again, kilts are kind of hilarious.
Then again, kilts are kind of hilarious.
13 May 2010
And we have a government!
To briefly recap - in the UK parliamentary system, the Prime Minister is the head of the party with an absolute majority (326 seats) in Parliament. If no single party gets a majority, this creates a "hung Parliament." The parties then enter into negotiations to form a coalition with other parties until the necessary number of seats can be cobbled together.
Britain's last election, as I blogged before, ended in just such a hung Parliament. The Liberal Democrat party had to choose whether to ally with the Conservatives, which would immediately result in a new government, or ally with Labour, which would require a few other fourth-party MPs to throw in their hats. Negotiations were pretty intense. Labour leader and former PM Gordon Brown resigned as head of his party, possibly to give the Lib Dems a way to ally with Labour while plausibly maintaining their position as the party of change. (Brown resigned while I was at work, prompting cheers from certain Labour-supporting employees. Dancing around the office while singing "Bye-bye Brownie" may have also occurred).
Labour labored (har!) in vain, however. The Conservatives and the Lib Dems have agreed on a deal. Much of their platform is available here but some interesting highlights, at least as far as I'm concerned, are:
- eliminating the proposed National ID Card system and the next-generation RFID passports.
- capping non-EU migration. (This may or may not be terribly helpful, as many of Britain's unpopular immigrants are from the EU, or at least aren't here legally in the first place)
- officially pledging not to join the Eurozone
- planning to convert current welfare programs into welfare-to-work (the idea kicked around during the campaign was to strip benefits from anybody able to work who rejected three job offers; not sure if that's what they'll settle on or not).
- reforming schools, particularly by allowing local start-up schools similar to US charter schools.
- retaining Trident, the British nuclear sub program
There's lots more in there but those are some juicy/controversial bits. What will actually be translated into policy is anybody's guess.
Britain's last election, as I blogged before, ended in just such a hung Parliament. The Liberal Democrat party had to choose whether to ally with the Conservatives, which would immediately result in a new government, or ally with Labour, which would require a few other fourth-party MPs to throw in their hats. Negotiations were pretty intense. Labour leader and former PM Gordon Brown resigned as head of his party, possibly to give the Lib Dems a way to ally with Labour while plausibly maintaining their position as the party of change. (Brown resigned while I was at work, prompting cheers from certain Labour-supporting employees. Dancing around the office while singing "Bye-bye Brownie" may have also occurred).
Labour labored (har!) in vain, however. The Conservatives and the Lib Dems have agreed on a deal. Much of their platform is available here but some interesting highlights, at least as far as I'm concerned, are:
- eliminating the proposed National ID Card system and the next-generation RFID passports.
- capping non-EU migration. (This may or may not be terribly helpful, as many of Britain's unpopular immigrants are from the EU, or at least aren't here legally in the first place)
- officially pledging not to join the Eurozone
- planning to convert current welfare programs into welfare-to-work (the idea kicked around during the campaign was to strip benefits from anybody able to work who rejected three job offers; not sure if that's what they'll settle on or not).
- reforming schools, particularly by allowing local start-up schools similar to US charter schools.
- retaining Trident, the British nuclear sub program
There's lots more in there but those are some juicy/controversial bits. What will actually be translated into policy is anybody's guess.
11 May 2010
The Wild Haggis Beast!
In response to a recent survey that revealed 1 in 5 Brits think the haggis is an actual animal native to the Scottish highlands, BoingBoing asked its readers to submit their own drawings of what they think a wild haggis would look like. Here are the results!
07 May 2010
A Hung Parliament: What now?
If you've been following the elections on our side of the pond, you may have noticed that it's a particularly significant one over here. Labour have (British English for "Labor has") been in power since 1997, when Tony Blair became Prime Minister and launched what he called "New Labour." His Chancellor of the Exchequer, the guy responsible for economic policy, was Gordon Brown, who became Prime Minister himself in 2007. Brown is also a University of Edinburgh alumnus. In fact, my professor this term advised on Gordon Brown's PhD thesis, on Labour party organizing in postwar Britain. We asked what he thought about Brown. The professor was, shall we say, diplomatic.
In an article I read yesterday making their personal choice for the election, The Economist praised Brown's handling of the recent financial crisis, but pointed out that it's sort of unfair to praise him for doing pretty well in a situation he essentially created by not regulating banks or controlling funding effectively when he was Chancellor of the Exchequer. It's like saying, "Wow, you did a great job putting out that fire. Of course, you're the one who started it, or at the very least you're the one who didn't tell people to stop smoking next to the gasoline." The Economist, therefore, went pro-Tory. Tory is the same as Conservative - it's like saying "GOP" instead of "Republican." This party is led by David Cameron.
There is a third party, the Liberal Democrats, but they've been hampered by the structuring of the UK system. If you're interested, read the next paragraphs. Otherwise, take my word for it and meet me again under the *********.
In the US, representation in Congress is first divided by state, and then divided into districts (or, for the senate, just two per state). In the UK, the country is divided into constituencies purely by population. The Parliamentary web site says that there are 650 constituencies for this current election, with about 69,000 voters each. It's a winner-take-all system (called "first past the post" here) similar to the U.S. electoral college.
The Liberal Democrats have a tendency to come in second in very tight races - in Edinburgh South, for instance, the Lib Dem candidate lost by just 316 votes. Currently, the Lib Dems are polling at 22% of the popular vote, which in theory would translate to 130 of 650 Parliamentary seats. Because of these tight losses, they've so far won just 53. Labour's 29% of the popular vote would, in a perfectly proportional system, would win them 188 seats; they have 252. You can see why electoral reform was a major Lib Dem party platform.
A last thought on electoral divisions: England gets 533 of the 650 seats in Parliament. Scotland gets just 59, Wales 40, and Northern Ireland 18. This is a serious thorn for voters outside of England, who will never, even if they all ally with each other, be able to force serious government policy. Scottish anger at this system contributed to devolution, or returning certain governing powers to a local Scottish Parliament, but that's a whole 'nother blog post.
***********************
Welcome back.
The UK Parliament is, believe it or not, even more partisan and party-driven than Congress. The reason is that the Prime Minister, instead of being elected separately, like the U.S. president, is the leader of the majority party in Parliament. (President Nancy Pelosi, anybody?)
David Cameron's Conservative party has a plurality of seats (the most of any party) but even with some returns coming in, will not reach 326, which is needed for a majority.
When this happens in the UK, parties start putting together coalitions. Cameron could ask the Lib Dems to join him, adding their 53 seats to his 306 and creating a majority, but he'd have to give concessions to the Lib Dems to do it. (They might, for instance, insist on important positions in the government, or on Conservatives adopting some Lib Dem political platforms). And looming behind this is the threat that the Lib Dems could take their 53 seats and ally with Labour. It wouldn't at the moment be enough to win a majority, but it might be with some extra parties added in or some new returns. Nick Clegg, the Lib Dems' leader, is therefore a bit of a kingmaker. He has suggested in speeches that he'll go with the Conservatives because of their overwhelming popular vote victory.
There's a lot more to talk about here - what each party stands for (try here or here), listing some wacky UK fringe parties (the Pirate Party - electronic, not eyepatch - or the Monster Raving Loony Party, which supports, among other things, outward-pointed air conditioners to reduce global warming) but my pizza is ready.
In an article I read yesterday making their personal choice for the election, The Economist praised Brown's handling of the recent financial crisis, but pointed out that it's sort of unfair to praise him for doing pretty well in a situation he essentially created by not regulating banks or controlling funding effectively when he was Chancellor of the Exchequer. It's like saying, "Wow, you did a great job putting out that fire. Of course, you're the one who started it, or at the very least you're the one who didn't tell people to stop smoking next to the gasoline." The Economist, therefore, went pro-Tory. Tory is the same as Conservative - it's like saying "GOP" instead of "Republican." This party is led by David Cameron.
There is a third party, the Liberal Democrats, but they've been hampered by the structuring of the UK system. If you're interested, read the next paragraphs. Otherwise, take my word for it and meet me again under the *********.
In the US, representation in Congress is first divided by state, and then divided into districts (or, for the senate, just two per state). In the UK, the country is divided into constituencies purely by population. The Parliamentary web site says that there are 650 constituencies for this current election, with about 69,000 voters each. It's a winner-take-all system (called "first past the post" here) similar to the U.S. electoral college.
The Liberal Democrats have a tendency to come in second in very tight races - in Edinburgh South, for instance, the Lib Dem candidate lost by just 316 votes. Currently, the Lib Dems are polling at 22% of the popular vote, which in theory would translate to 130 of 650 Parliamentary seats. Because of these tight losses, they've so far won just 53. Labour's 29% of the popular vote would, in a perfectly proportional system, would win them 188 seats; they have 252. You can see why electoral reform was a major Lib Dem party platform.
A last thought on electoral divisions: England gets 533 of the 650 seats in Parliament. Scotland gets just 59, Wales 40, and Northern Ireland 18. This is a serious thorn for voters outside of England, who will never, even if they all ally with each other, be able to force serious government policy. Scottish anger at this system contributed to devolution, or returning certain governing powers to a local Scottish Parliament, but that's a whole 'nother blog post.
***********************
Welcome back.
The UK Parliament is, believe it or not, even more partisan and party-driven than Congress. The reason is that the Prime Minister, instead of being elected separately, like the U.S. president, is the leader of the majority party in Parliament. (President Nancy Pelosi, anybody?)
David Cameron's Conservative party has a plurality of seats (the most of any party) but even with some returns coming in, will not reach 326, which is needed for a majority.
When this happens in the UK, parties start putting together coalitions. Cameron could ask the Lib Dems to join him, adding their 53 seats to his 306 and creating a majority, but he'd have to give concessions to the Lib Dems to do it. (They might, for instance, insist on important positions in the government, or on Conservatives adopting some Lib Dem political platforms). And looming behind this is the threat that the Lib Dems could take their 53 seats and ally with Labour. It wouldn't at the moment be enough to win a majority, but it might be with some extra parties added in or some new returns. Nick Clegg, the Lib Dems' leader, is therefore a bit of a kingmaker. He has suggested in speeches that he'll go with the Conservatives because of their overwhelming popular vote victory.
There's a lot more to talk about here - what each party stands for (try here or here), listing some wacky UK fringe parties (the Pirate Party - electronic, not eyepatch - or the Monster Raving Loony Party, which supports, among other things, outward-pointed air conditioners to reduce global warming) but my pizza is ready.
04 May 2010
Betting on the British Election
If you've been following international news lately, you've probably heard something of the upcoming British general election. This one's a doozy for a variety of reasons, the foremost being that projected success by the centrist Liberal Democrats threatens to upset the longstanding two-party system.
A lot of the recent news, however, has been about the most recent TV debate has shifted the odds in favor of a Conservative (aka Tory) victory. Previously, bookmakers had put their money on a hung parliament.
Which begs the question: how many people actually bet on election outcomes in the UK? I haven't been able to find any hard data, but marketing campaigns by the big gambling chains suggest that they actually expect to make some money off those bets. As an American, this seems kind of odd to me: gambling is really not a huge part of American life, and is usually limited to the more conventional bets and games. But here in the UK, it's hard to walk more than a couple blocks on any commercial street without passing a betting parlor or two, and many of the bets advertised in the window are pretty exotic.
Stranger still is the use of published gambling odds in political advertising. Nana spotted a sign touting a Liberal Democrat candidate's odds as a come-on to potential voters: Labour, it seems, has been claiming that Lib Dem candidates can't win and any vote for a Lib Dem candidate is as good as a vote for a Tory (American third-party supporters will recognize this argument), so the Lib Dems have been very vocal when bookmakers have given them good odds of success.
An interesting bit of bandwagon propaganda . . . but could you imagine an American politician doing the same thing?
A lot of the recent news, however, has been about the most recent TV debate has shifted the odds in favor of a Conservative (aka Tory) victory. Previously, bookmakers had put their money on a hung parliament.
Which begs the question: how many people actually bet on election outcomes in the UK? I haven't been able to find any hard data, but marketing campaigns by the big gambling chains suggest that they actually expect to make some money off those bets. As an American, this seems kind of odd to me: gambling is really not a huge part of American life, and is usually limited to the more conventional bets and games. But here in the UK, it's hard to walk more than a couple blocks on any commercial street without passing a betting parlor or two, and many of the bets advertised in the window are pretty exotic.
Stranger still is the use of published gambling odds in political advertising. Nana spotted a sign touting a Liberal Democrat candidate's odds as a come-on to potential voters: Labour, it seems, has been claiming that Lib Dem candidates can't win and any vote for a Lib Dem candidate is as good as a vote for a Tory (American third-party supporters will recognize this argument), so the Lib Dems have been very vocal when bookmakers have given them good odds of success.
An interesting bit of bandwagon propaganda . . . but could you imagine an American politician doing the same thing?
03 May 2010
Scottish Accents
Due to its highly regional history and multitude of foreign linguistic influences, the UK has a mindboggling density of accents. When you think "Scottish accent," you probably think of Sir Sean Connery. But Connery's accent is only one of many Scottish accents - in the UK, accents are so regional that even regions like Scotland have their own regional accents.
Connery's accent (voted favorite UK accent in a 2005 BBC survey) is an Edinburgh accent. He grew up working-class, but his voice has posh-ified over the years. For a more current example of the Edinburgh accent Justin and I hear daily, try Jenny (at about 1 minute), who right now is on the BBC reality show Over the Rainbow competing to play Dorothy in the West End. The Edinburgh accent has a lot in common with the northern English accent, especially the letter "O," which sounds a lot like Yorkshire. My favorite thing about it is the way they say Edinburgh: "Eh-din-barrah."
Glasgow, however, has a different accent from Edinburgh. You might recognize it as the accent of Billy Boyd playing Pippin in Lord of the Rings. I have no technical linguistics-y terms for the difference, but it's rounder, less nasal, and the Os and Rs are different.
But even these are only two major regional variations. The Highlands and Islands (Western Scotland, including the Isle of Skye,) have an accent of their own (number 13), which to me sounds quite like an Irish accent. Maybe it's because both of those areas have a much longer history of Celtic languages. One of my coursemates has my favorite Scottish accent, the Shetland accent, which retains not only sounds but also some slangy vocabulary expressions from Norwegian. The BBC accent archive is being snippy with me because I don't have RealPlayer installed, but it's one of the few places I've found a Shetland accent.
And if you're really geeky, check out the George Mason speech accent archive: they've recorded hundreds of native and non-native speakers of English from all over the world. They only have two Scottish accents - Glasgow is here, Edinburgh is here - but the worldwide ones are a hoot. Check out a Yinzer here. You can also check out this Norwegian and learn why Justin and I are constantly mistaking English-fluent Scandinavians for people from some part of Britain we haven't been to yet.
Connery's accent (voted favorite UK accent in a 2005 BBC survey) is an Edinburgh accent. He grew up working-class, but his voice has posh-ified over the years. For a more current example of the Edinburgh accent Justin and I hear daily, try Jenny (at about 1 minute), who right now is on the BBC reality show Over the Rainbow competing to play Dorothy in the West End. The Edinburgh accent has a lot in common with the northern English accent, especially the letter "O," which sounds a lot like Yorkshire. My favorite thing about it is the way they say Edinburgh: "Eh-din-barrah."
Glasgow, however, has a different accent from Edinburgh. You might recognize it as the accent of Billy Boyd playing Pippin in Lord of the Rings. I have no technical linguistics-y terms for the difference, but it's rounder, less nasal, and the Os and Rs are different.
But even these are only two major regional variations. The Highlands and Islands (Western Scotland, including the Isle of Skye,) have an accent of their own (number 13), which to me sounds quite like an Irish accent. Maybe it's because both of those areas have a much longer history of Celtic languages. One of my coursemates has my favorite Scottish accent, the Shetland accent, which retains not only sounds but also some slangy vocabulary expressions from Norwegian. The BBC accent archive is being snippy with me because I don't have RealPlayer installed, but it's one of the few places I've found a Shetland accent.
And if you're really geeky, check out the George Mason speech accent archive: they've recorded hundreds of native and non-native speakers of English from all over the world. They only have two Scottish accents - Glasgow is here, Edinburgh is here - but the worldwide ones are a hoot. Check out a Yinzer here. You can also check out this Norwegian and learn why Justin and I are constantly mistaking English-fluent Scandinavians for people from some part of Britain we haven't been to yet.
15 April 2010
"Erasing David" - Documentary on Dodging the British Surveillance State
(Wow, two topical posts in one day! Thanks to Anne Marie for this one.)
The UK is a surveillance state.
Issues of surveillance and civil liberty are an interest of mine, and the UK has become a laboratory for how a democracy can learn to treat every citizen as a potential criminal. More importantly, it seems like every crackpot "next step" in US surveillance has already been tried on a smaller scale over here--with often disastrous results that have exposed millions of British residents to identity theft and outright humiliation or abuse.
Of course, surveillance may be less intrusive in smaller cities like Edinburgh, as I mentioned in a previous post, but it's still pretty bad and getting worse. The justification here is the same as in the US: if you're not doing anything wrong, then you've got nothing to fear. But the problem is that the folks on the other end of the camera/search engine/government database are human, too, and thus as susceptible to the corrupting influence of power as the rest of us. And let's face it: information is power, and there's a heck of a lot of it lying around these days. Even with surveillance powers conceived with the very best intentions in mind, it's only a matter of time before they're handed over to someone who will abuse them.
Anyway, to the real point of this post: there's a fascinating film by the name of Erasing David coming out in the UK on April 25 that attempts to personalize issues of surveillance that politicians and the media are all too happy to leave abstract. In the film, David Bond tries to disappear for thirty days while a team of private investigators, using whatever information they can find, try to track him down. In the process, they try to make it painfully clear that the UK has become an identity thief's playground, and that the UK already has the infrastructure, if not the actual practice, of a police state in place.
But that's probably enough libertarian ranting for one day.
The UK is a surveillance state.
Issues of surveillance and civil liberty are an interest of mine, and the UK has become a laboratory for how a democracy can learn to treat every citizen as a potential criminal. More importantly, it seems like every crackpot "next step" in US surveillance has already been tried on a smaller scale over here--with often disastrous results that have exposed millions of British residents to identity theft and outright humiliation or abuse.
Of course, surveillance may be less intrusive in smaller cities like Edinburgh, as I mentioned in a previous post, but it's still pretty bad and getting worse. The justification here is the same as in the US: if you're not doing anything wrong, then you've got nothing to fear. But the problem is that the folks on the other end of the camera/search engine/government database are human, too, and thus as susceptible to the corrupting influence of power as the rest of us. And let's face it: information is power, and there's a heck of a lot of it lying around these days. Even with surveillance powers conceived with the very best intentions in mind, it's only a matter of time before they're handed over to someone who will abuse them.
Anyway, to the real point of this post: there's a fascinating film by the name of Erasing David coming out in the UK on April 25 that attempts to personalize issues of surveillance that politicians and the media are all too happy to leave abstract. In the film, David Bond tries to disappear for thirty days while a team of private investigators, using whatever information they can find, try to track him down. In the process, they try to make it painfully clear that the UK has become an identity thief's playground, and that the UK already has the infrastructure, if not the actual practice, of a police state in place.
But that's probably enough libertarian ranting for one day.
24 March 2010
Taking the mickey
"Taking the mickey," along with its less-polite variant "taking the piss," is a British expression meaning to tease or poke fun at. So let's take a moment to take the mickey out of some UK quirks.
1. Two-tap sinks
Back in ye olden tymes, sinks had hot taps and cold taps with separate pipes to each. It is no longer those times. If I can have wireless fiberoptic internet in my apartment, surely it is not too much to ask that I have one tap producing a usable-temperature water, instead of one that give me frostbite and one that gives me burns? My fingers are actually chapped and cracked from using these ridiculous (and omnipresent) sinks. There is even a Facebook group called "You are not an advanced country if you have separate water taps."And you know what? It's true.
2. Honey Cheerios
Not Honey Nut Cheerios, just Honey Cheerios. Why? I'm not sure, but I have a sneaking suspicion it has to do with allergy packaging regulations (this is, after all, a country of nut-free schools - at least in the literal sense.) Made extra amusing by the fact that the Honey Cheerios URL above on the Nestle site still ends with "cheerios-honeynut.aspx." Further cereal fun fact: Frosted Mini Wheats are just Frosted Wheats here.
3. The word "revision"
The first time I heard this was in French class, when the French-born teacher kept talking about how we were surely all revising for exams. Revising? Surely he meant "reviewing." But no. "Revision" is the commonly accepted UK term for reviewing. (See, for instance, "Sleeping helps students revise")
I could handle this as a one-for-one switch. What I can't process is that "revision" also incorporates the U.S. meaning of "to rewrite or edit." So in my research yesterday, I came across the sentence, "The committee revised the rules," and I have no idea what happened. Did they review the rules? Did they rewrite the rules? There is no way to tell!
4. Listed buildings
I'm all about conservation as far as architecture goes, but the "listing" program in the UK can be a bit goofy. Begun after World War II, it was intended to offer government protection to buildings of architectural and historical interest but has become a monster. You can't for instance, replace energy-inefficient old windows in a listed building with double-glazing without special permission. And that's assuming you even had a vote in getting your building listed in the first place.
As anybody who lived in Morse or Stiles can tell you, what constitutes good architecture is not a fixed concept. Unfortunately, listing is fixed. Once a building gets listed, you're pretty much stuck with it. Hence the outrage at Edinburgh a few years back when the university tried to list Appleton Tower. In the 1960s, a bunch of Georgian buildings (beautiful 200-year-old town houses) were torn down to construct this:
(The building in the front is William Robertson - Billy Bobberson to its friends - and is also hideous, but for the moment let's focus on the one in the back).
In the early 2000s, Appleton received architectural and historical interest, but not perhaps the kind Historic Scotland likes: students nominated it for demolition. A prominent geneticist alumnus of Edinburgh University consider "the ugliness of Appleton Tower" one of the seven wonders of the world. For some blindingly obscure reason, Historic Scotland decided that this was the right time to try to list Appleton Tower, thereby inflicting it upon us for all time. It didn't succeed, but what the heck! There's always next year!
5. UK Keyboards
The US and the UK are no longer merely two countries divided by a common language. We are now two countries divided by an uncommon computer keyboard.
Yes, UK keyboards have a few sneaky modifications to the U.S. layout. I can understand switching it so that the single quote ('), rather than the double quote (") is the default key just beside your right pinky, as the single quote is the correct UK usage for speech. It's just a formatting convention. What I can't figure out is why you'd bring the @ symbol down from the numbers row to replace the double-quote. I hardly ever use the @ symbol. Do British people send more e-mails than American ones? Or do they merely have less-effective autocomplete in their mail programs (programmes)? It. drives me nuts that my left shift key is shortened by a full key width, replaced with a useless forward slash, and I don't even know what the letter ¬ means. It looks like the Korean letter for the sound @k@.
Dang it, that was supposed to be "k." Curse you, UK keyboards!!!!!
1. Two-tap sinks
Back in ye olden tymes, sinks had hot taps and cold taps with separate pipes to each. It is no longer those times. If I can have wireless fiberoptic internet in my apartment, surely it is not too much to ask that I have one tap producing a usable-temperature water, instead of one that give me frostbite and one that gives me burns? My fingers are actually chapped and cracked from using these ridiculous (and omnipresent) sinks. There is even a Facebook group called "You are not an advanced country if you have separate water taps."And you know what? It's true.
2. Honey Cheerios
Not Honey Nut Cheerios, just Honey Cheerios. Why? I'm not sure, but I have a sneaking suspicion it has to do with allergy packaging regulations (this is, after all, a country of nut-free schools - at least in the literal sense.) Made extra amusing by the fact that the Honey Cheerios URL above on the Nestle site still ends with "cheerios-honeynut.aspx." Further cereal fun fact: Frosted Mini Wheats are just Frosted Wheats here.
3. The word "revision"
The first time I heard this was in French class, when the French-born teacher kept talking about how we were surely all revising for exams. Revising? Surely he meant "reviewing." But no. "Revision" is the commonly accepted UK term for reviewing. (See, for instance, "Sleeping helps students revise")
I could handle this as a one-for-one switch. What I can't process is that "revision" also incorporates the U.S. meaning of "to rewrite or edit." So in my research yesterday, I came across the sentence, "The committee revised the rules," and I have no idea what happened. Did they review the rules? Did they rewrite the rules? There is no way to tell!
4. Listed buildings
I'm all about conservation as far as architecture goes, but the "listing" program in the UK can be a bit goofy. Begun after World War II, it was intended to offer government protection to buildings of architectural and historical interest but has become a monster. You can't for instance, replace energy-inefficient old windows in a listed building with double-glazing without special permission. And that's assuming you even had a vote in getting your building listed in the first place.
As anybody who lived in Morse or Stiles can tell you, what constitutes good architecture is not a fixed concept. Unfortunately, listing is fixed. Once a building gets listed, you're pretty much stuck with it. Hence the outrage at Edinburgh a few years back when the university tried to list Appleton Tower. In the 1960s, a bunch of Georgian buildings (beautiful 200-year-old town houses) were torn down to construct this:
(The building in the front is William Robertson - Billy Bobberson to its friends - and is also hideous, but for the moment let's focus on the one in the back).
In the early 2000s, Appleton received architectural and historical interest, but not perhaps the kind Historic Scotland likes: students nominated it for demolition. A prominent geneticist alumnus of Edinburgh University consider "the ugliness of Appleton Tower" one of the seven wonders of the world. For some blindingly obscure reason, Historic Scotland decided that this was the right time to try to list Appleton Tower, thereby inflicting it upon us for all time. It didn't succeed, but what the heck! There's always next year!
5. UK Keyboards
The US and the UK are no longer merely two countries divided by a common language. We are now two countries divided by an uncommon computer keyboard.
Yes, UK keyboards have a few sneaky modifications to the U.S. layout. I can understand switching it so that the single quote ('), rather than the double quote (") is the default key just beside your right pinky, as the single quote is the correct UK usage for speech. It's just a formatting convention. What I can't figure out is why you'd bring the @ symbol down from the numbers row to replace the double-quote. I hardly ever use the @ symbol. Do British people send more e-mails than American ones? Or do they merely have less-effective autocomplete in their mail programs (programmes)? It. drives me nuts that my left shift key is shortened by a full key width, replaced with a useless forward slash, and I don't even know what the letter ¬ means. It looks like the Korean letter for the sound @k@.
Dang it, that was supposed to be "k." Curse you, UK keyboards!!!!!
02 March 2010
The Surveillance State in Scotland?
There's an interesting piece up over at Reason.com about the growing use of classical music as a form of "social control" in the UK. In recent years, the UK has been making a name for itself as a wacky surveillance state: CCTV on every corner, broad-brush campaigns against young people in public spaces, heavy-handed policing of photographers, etc.
However, from what I've read, and what I've seen, it seems like the heaviest surveillance is reserved for south of the border. Sure, we have the occasional CCTV camera here in Edinburgh, but the police are anything but omnipresent, and despite my incessant shutter-bugging, I've never been stopped by police, and I've never heard of anyone else here being stopped, either.
I wonder why this is. It's possible that, because Nana and I both live and work in one of the nicer parts of town, we just don't spend a lot of time in the areas at which surveillance measures are usually targeted. And Edinburgh as a whole is pretty tame: Glasgow is really the only Scottish city with a population--and a crime rate--similar to the big cities in England where most of these surveillance stories originate. We haven't been to Glasgow yet, so I don't know what it's like there.
Then again, I haven't been to London in years, so I can't vouch for Big Brother's influence there, either. It's possible the surveillance stories are overblown, just as its possible that our little slice of the UK just happens to be one of the least-surveilled.
However, from what I've read, and what I've seen, it seems like the heaviest surveillance is reserved for south of the border. Sure, we have the occasional CCTV camera here in Edinburgh, but the police are anything but omnipresent, and despite my incessant shutter-bugging, I've never been stopped by police, and I've never heard of anyone else here being stopped, either.
I wonder why this is. It's possible that, because Nana and I both live and work in one of the nicer parts of town, we just don't spend a lot of time in the areas at which surveillance measures are usually targeted. And Edinburgh as a whole is pretty tame: Glasgow is really the only Scottish city with a population--and a crime rate--similar to the big cities in England where most of these surveillance stories originate. We haven't been to Glasgow yet, so I don't know what it's like there.
Then again, I haven't been to London in years, so I can't vouch for Big Brother's influence there, either. It's possible the surveillance stories are overblown, just as its possible that our little slice of the UK just happens to be one of the least-surveilled.
13 February 2010
City of Literature: Edinburgh books
If I asked you what world city was the first title holder of the UNESCO designation "City of Literature," I'm not sure Edinburgh would leap to your mind. It certainly didn't leap to mine; my first guess was London. But Edinburgh it is: the City of Literature.
I will cede the floor to Justin on discussing the role of Edinburgh in English-language publishing (hint: massive) because heck, it's what he studies. Instead, I'll write a bit here about some books with Edinburgh connections, and make some suggestions in case you want to pick up a book that gives you a peek into our current hometown.
Harry Potter Series, by J.K. Rowling
If you've been paying attention, you already knew this! Edinburgh has served as the place of writing and also as the inspiration for many aspects of this series, including locations and character names. I won't bother to describe the series, but the Edinburgh connection was new to me when I moved here.
Who might enjoy: Everybody in the world, apparently
The Inspector Rebus series, by Ian Rankin
Inspector Rebus is an Edinburgh police detective. The series began in the late '80s - I got a chuckle at the scene in the first book where Rebus mentions his pride and joy, a Japanese-manufactured tape deck - but is still going strong. I've only read the first book, Knots and Crosses, but I ran into many Edinburgh locations that make up my daily life. I particularly enjoyed the scene where Rebus walks from his apartment in Marchmont (where there's a particularly nice beer shop Justin and I frequent) across the Meadows (how we get to campus) through Greyfriars Kirkyard (where we went with Meghan to see the Tom Riddle tombstone) and into the Central Public Library (where I currently have five books checked out). I think they've moved the children's section since the book was published, but the reference room is exactly as described. I should know - I researched there last December!
Who might enjoy: Rebus is not a procedural mystery, which is to say, you are not given clues to piece the mystery together. It's a crime novel much more in the thriller vein. The first one was violent (about child kidnapping and murder) but very little violence happened "on screen." You didn't get passages narrated by the crazy killer, which I always hate. I can't vouch for later ones. It's more for fans of Tom Clancy or James Patterson than Agatha Christie.
The Sunday Philosophy Club Series, by Alexander McCall Smith
Another Edinburgh mystery series. (Edinburgh and crime just seem to go together... maybe it's the weather, which can politely be termed "atmospheric.") Actually, word on the street has it that Rowling, McCall Smith, and Rankin are pals, and sometimes get together for a cup of tea.
To be honest, I read this book two years ago, before Edinburgh was even a glint in my eye, so I don't remember much of the plot or the Edinburgh connections. McCall Smith is better known for his No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency Series, which I prefer for its more lighthearted and chatty style. But if you like five-page philosophical digressions on Camus with your mystery novels (and I know you're out there), this may be a series you'd enjoy.
Who Might Enjoy: Seriously? I just answered that.
The Lymond Chronicles, by Dorothy Dunnett
Neither a mystery nor a book set in the present! The Lymond Chronicles is a massive six-volume series about a Scottish aristocrat named Francis Lymond, who becomes a key player in the political intrigue among England, Scotland, Ireland, France, and others during the early childhood of Mary, Queen of Scots. Lymond is brilliant, and watching him juggle plots and schemes while knowing he'll always somehow pull it out is great fun. His compatriots, sadly, do not always make it out with him (expect to lose many supporting characters along the way) and it's often Lymond's fault. Unlike superman James Bond heroes, he makes mistakes and changes and learns. I am about to start book 4, and I have been assured at a romance book forum I frequent that a thoroughly satisfying romance will conclude this series.
Edinburgh appears many times in the series. This website lists them all, but don't go there if you haven't read the series yet, as it's full of spoilers. One highlight for me was watching Lymond race up the Grassmarket to make it in time for a climactic sword fight in St. Giles' Cathedral. It doesn't look the same, as the building was Catholic during the 1550s but is Church of Scotland today, but if I moved some screens and altars around in my mind, I could get a very good idea of the setting. Bonus for Justin and me - a scene set at Tantallon Castle and a large chunk of the third book in Malta!
Who might enjoy: Anybody who likes a large but tightly plotted historical epic with a great lead character. Diana Gabaldon fans, fans of the Scarlet Pimpernel (with a higher tolerance for secondary character suffering), Scottish history buffs (many real people are part of the story).
Kidnapped, by Robert Louis Stevenson
I expect shrieks of outrage from Justin when this post goes up. He did a paper on Kidnapped last term in which he discussed the publication history of the book, including its selection as the first book for the "One Book, One Edinburgh" project. This was a City of Literature campaign to get everyone in Edinburgh to read the same book, and it included sponsoring a graphic novel adaptation of Kidnapped by the legendary Alan Grant and Cam Kennedy. Justin got a very good grade on this paper, but he gets an Incomplete for this blog post.
Kidnapped is set in the 18th century (1700s, for people like me who can never do that math correctly). It's an adventure tale originally published for young men (oh, Justin must be twitching now!). Most of the narrative takes place outside of Edinburgh, with a few exceptions near the beginning and end. It features the famous description of Auld Reekie "smoking like a kiln." I also liked the description of Grassmarket (the same one featured in Lymond):
"The huge height of the buildings, running up to ten and fifteen storeys, the narrow arched entries that continually vomited passengers, the wares of the merchants in their windows, the hubbub and endless stir, the foul smells and the fine clothes, and a hundred other particulars too small to mention.."
Writing in the early 19oos about the mid 1700s and applicable to the early 2000s (see image here). Nicely done, Bobby Louie Stevie.
Who might enjoy: According to Justin, everybody. Good for all ages. Stevenson's writing is clear and vivid and does not read at all as if it's one hundred years old (he's sort of like Orwell that way).
The Highland Countess, by Marion Chesney
You're not getting through this list without at least one romance novel. The Scottish/Highland subgenre in romance is colossal. Edinburgh is Lowland Scotland, so many romances don't actually include scenes here, but The Highland Countess does. I'm including it as a representative for every tartan-covered novel with a claymore-wielding Laird and semi-Scots expressions like "dinna fash" and "wee lassie."
Actually, I love Marion Chesney. My mother probably hates her, because of the time I misplaced a library book called Deborah Goes to Dover and we had to pay for it. I still have no idea where that book is. The Highland Countess is a similar plot to many Regency London-set novels, but it provides a fun alternative setting. I remember the scene in which the heroine, moving into her husband's apartment on the Royal Mile, reflects on some of the same human smells mentioned above by Stevenson. Edinburgh, historically, has not been a salubrious place.
Who might enjoy: Anybody who enjoys clever, short stories with happy endings. This is a very mild romance as far as... well, "romance" goes. Safe for most readers.
Honorable Mentions: The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson, and the Sherlock Holmes mysteries, by Arthur Conan Doyle.
(They're public domain, so if you click on the above links, you can read them online for free!)
Honorable Mentions because these books are ostensibly set in London, but any reader paying attention can pick out Edinburgh elements. Jekyll and Hyde, in particular, has foggy closes and passageways that could only be Old Town Edinburgh. Like Kidnapped, it was chosen as a City of Literature book (of Doyle's work, they chose The Lost World instead of a Holmes novel. It's good but not Edinburgh-y).
Additionally, both feature characters based on real Edinburghers. The double-life of Jekyll and Hyde likely drew on the story of Deacon Brodie, an upstanding Edinburgh cabinetmaker and councilman who just happened to moonlight as a burglar to pay for his gambling habit. Arthur Conan Doyle based Sherlock Holmes on one of his professors at the University of Edinburgh, a man named Joseph Bell. The professor was noted for his keen sense of observation and his process of logical deduction. Today, the university has a Joseph Bell Centre for Forensic Statistics and Legal Reasoning (very fitting, one must say.)
Who would enjoy: Jekyll and Hyde is a very readable and highly engaging classic. Don't assume you won't enjoy the book just because you know the plot twist. As for Sherlock Holmes - well, don't judge the books by the movie. Anybody could enjoy these. They are not violent and move quite quickly. Personally, I love the short mysteries, which come in collections. The longer mysteries tend to be padded out in the last two-thirds by an extensive victim/perpetrator backstory - of the longer ones, I can only recommend Hound of the Baskervilles without reservation.
And that's not even all the books with Edinburgh connections out there. If you run into another one, leave a comment on the page here and tell me what you thought of it!
I will cede the floor to Justin on discussing the role of Edinburgh in English-language publishing (hint: massive) because heck, it's what he studies. Instead, I'll write a bit here about some books with Edinburgh connections, and make some suggestions in case you want to pick up a book that gives you a peek into our current hometown.
Harry Potter Series, by J.K. Rowling
If you've been paying attention, you already knew this! Edinburgh has served as the place of writing and also as the inspiration for many aspects of this series, including locations and character names. I won't bother to describe the series, but the Edinburgh connection was new to me when I moved here.
Who might enjoy: Everybody in the world, apparently
The Inspector Rebus series, by Ian Rankin
Inspector Rebus is an Edinburgh police detective. The series began in the late '80s - I got a chuckle at the scene in the first book where Rebus mentions his pride and joy, a Japanese-manufactured tape deck - but is still going strong. I've only read the first book, Knots and Crosses, but I ran into many Edinburgh locations that make up my daily life. I particularly enjoyed the scene where Rebus walks from his apartment in Marchmont (where there's a particularly nice beer shop Justin and I frequent) across the Meadows (how we get to campus) through Greyfriars Kirkyard (where we went with Meghan to see the Tom Riddle tombstone) and into the Central Public Library (where I currently have five books checked out). I think they've moved the children's section since the book was published, but the reference room is exactly as described. I should know - I researched there last December!
Who might enjoy: Rebus is not a procedural mystery, which is to say, you are not given clues to piece the mystery together. It's a crime novel much more in the thriller vein. The first one was violent (about child kidnapping and murder) but very little violence happened "on screen." You didn't get passages narrated by the crazy killer, which I always hate. I can't vouch for later ones. It's more for fans of Tom Clancy or James Patterson than Agatha Christie.
The Sunday Philosophy Club Series, by Alexander McCall Smith
Another Edinburgh mystery series. (Edinburgh and crime just seem to go together... maybe it's the weather, which can politely be termed "atmospheric.") Actually, word on the street has it that Rowling, McCall Smith, and Rankin are pals, and sometimes get together for a cup of tea.
To be honest, I read this book two years ago, before Edinburgh was even a glint in my eye, so I don't remember much of the plot or the Edinburgh connections. McCall Smith is better known for his No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency Series, which I prefer for its more lighthearted and chatty style. But if you like five-page philosophical digressions on Camus with your mystery novels (and I know you're out there), this may be a series you'd enjoy.
Who Might Enjoy: Seriously? I just answered that.
The Lymond Chronicles, by Dorothy Dunnett
Neither a mystery nor a book set in the present! The Lymond Chronicles is a massive six-volume series about a Scottish aristocrat named Francis Lymond, who becomes a key player in the political intrigue among England, Scotland, Ireland, France, and others during the early childhood of Mary, Queen of Scots. Lymond is brilliant, and watching him juggle plots and schemes while knowing he'll always somehow pull it out is great fun. His compatriots, sadly, do not always make it out with him (expect to lose many supporting characters along the way) and it's often Lymond's fault. Unlike superman James Bond heroes, he makes mistakes and changes and learns. I am about to start book 4, and I have been assured at a romance book forum I frequent that a thoroughly satisfying romance will conclude this series.
Edinburgh appears many times in the series. This website lists them all, but don't go there if you haven't read the series yet, as it's full of spoilers. One highlight for me was watching Lymond race up the Grassmarket to make it in time for a climactic sword fight in St. Giles' Cathedral. It doesn't look the same, as the building was Catholic during the 1550s but is Church of Scotland today, but if I moved some screens and altars around in my mind, I could get a very good idea of the setting. Bonus for Justin and me - a scene set at Tantallon Castle and a large chunk of the third book in Malta!
Who might enjoy: Anybody who likes a large but tightly plotted historical epic with a great lead character. Diana Gabaldon fans, fans of the Scarlet Pimpernel (with a higher tolerance for secondary character suffering), Scottish history buffs (many real people are part of the story).
Kidnapped, by Robert Louis Stevenson
I expect shrieks of outrage from Justin when this post goes up. He did a paper on Kidnapped last term in which he discussed the publication history of the book, including its selection as the first book for the "One Book, One Edinburgh" project. This was a City of Literature campaign to get everyone in Edinburgh to read the same book, and it included sponsoring a graphic novel adaptation of Kidnapped by the legendary Alan Grant and Cam Kennedy. Justin got a very good grade on this paper, but he gets an Incomplete for this blog post.
Kidnapped is set in the 18th century (1700s, for people like me who can never do that math correctly). It's an adventure tale originally published for young men (oh, Justin must be twitching now!). Most of the narrative takes place outside of Edinburgh, with a few exceptions near the beginning and end. It features the famous description of Auld Reekie "smoking like a kiln." I also liked the description of Grassmarket (the same one featured in Lymond):
"The huge height of the buildings, running up to ten and fifteen storeys, the narrow arched entries that continually vomited passengers, the wares of the merchants in their windows, the hubbub and endless stir, the foul smells and the fine clothes, and a hundred other particulars too small to mention.."
Writing in the early 19oos about the mid 1700s and applicable to the early 2000s (see image here). Nicely done, Bobby Louie Stevie.
Who might enjoy: According to Justin, everybody. Good for all ages. Stevenson's writing is clear and vivid and does not read at all as if it's one hundred years old (he's sort of like Orwell that way).
The Highland Countess, by Marion Chesney
You're not getting through this list without at least one romance novel. The Scottish/Highland subgenre in romance is colossal. Edinburgh is Lowland Scotland, so many romances don't actually include scenes here, but The Highland Countess does. I'm including it as a representative for every tartan-covered novel with a claymore-wielding Laird and semi-Scots expressions like "dinna fash" and "wee lassie."
Actually, I love Marion Chesney. My mother probably hates her, because of the time I misplaced a library book called Deborah Goes to Dover and we had to pay for it. I still have no idea where that book is. The Highland Countess is a similar plot to many Regency London-set novels, but it provides a fun alternative setting. I remember the scene in which the heroine, moving into her husband's apartment on the Royal Mile, reflects on some of the same human smells mentioned above by Stevenson. Edinburgh, historically, has not been a salubrious place.
Who might enjoy: Anybody who enjoys clever, short stories with happy endings. This is a very mild romance as far as... well, "romance" goes. Safe for most readers.
Honorable Mentions: The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson, and the Sherlock Holmes mysteries, by Arthur Conan Doyle.
(They're public domain, so if you click on the above links, you can read them online for free!)
Honorable Mentions because these books are ostensibly set in London, but any reader paying attention can pick out Edinburgh elements. Jekyll and Hyde, in particular, has foggy closes and passageways that could only be Old Town Edinburgh. Like Kidnapped, it was chosen as a City of Literature book (of Doyle's work, they chose The Lost World instead of a Holmes novel. It's good but not Edinburgh-y).
Additionally, both feature characters based on real Edinburghers. The double-life of Jekyll and Hyde likely drew on the story of Deacon Brodie, an upstanding Edinburgh cabinetmaker and councilman who just happened to moonlight as a burglar to pay for his gambling habit. Arthur Conan Doyle based Sherlock Holmes on one of his professors at the University of Edinburgh, a man named Joseph Bell. The professor was noted for his keen sense of observation and his process of logical deduction. Today, the university has a Joseph Bell Centre for Forensic Statistics and Legal Reasoning (very fitting, one must say.)
Who would enjoy: Jekyll and Hyde is a very readable and highly engaging classic. Don't assume you won't enjoy the book just because you know the plot twist. As for Sherlock Holmes - well, don't judge the books by the movie. Anybody could enjoy these. They are not violent and move quite quickly. Personally, I love the short mysteries, which come in collections. The longer mysteries tend to be padded out in the last two-thirds by an extensive victim/perpetrator backstory - of the longer ones, I can only recommend Hound of the Baskervilles without reservation.
And that's not even all the books with Edinburgh connections out there. If you run into another one, leave a comment on the page here and tell me what you thought of it!
09 February 2010
Line up!
Scotland and Korea: A Cultural Comparison
Koreans do not believe in lines. Lines exist to keep other people out of the way while you cut around them and do whatever it is they're all waiting in line to do. We have a theory that this dates back to the war - anybody who couldn't throw a few elbows wasn't going to survive - and this is somewhat borne out by the fact that the worst line violators in the country are women over the age of 60. Those women will blow you up. I've seen NFL replays less painful than what one of them did to Justin in a supermarket.
By contrast, the Scots love lining up (or "queuing," as it's called here.) It's reputed to be a national pastime. This may explain why Canadians, many of whom are part Scottish, are famous for polite queuing (side note: the Canadian o, as in "aboot," matches the Scots accent, and I strongly suspect "eh?" is a derivation of the Scottish "aye?", which serves the same grammatical function of asking you to confirm the preceding statement). Ryanair, which we took to Malta, has a no-assigned-seats policy that basically requires you to bullrush the aircraft. In Scotland, it works surprisingly well. In Korea, there would be casualties - except, of course, that boarding already works like this, so maybe they're used to it.
This isn't a perfect system, though. Case in point: I was waiting at a bus stop, and everybody got into a nice straight line. Sounds like a great idea, until you realize that five buses use the same stop. When your bus pulls up, nobody ahead of you is getting on it, so you get out of the line, walk around the line, and get on the bus. The line is entirely superfluous. Or lines get ridiculously long because people will tolerate them. British Telecom told us that if we wanted their internet service, there would be a two week wait before a guy could come out and check our apartment for an activated line, plus a 200 pound fee for line activation if necessary, followed by a six week wait for internet service.
In game theory, economists construct little grids showing what benefits you'll get from an action depending on the other person's move (see a particularly adorable example here). If you think of the Chicken Game, for instance, in which two drivers drive at each other and one of them has to swerve: if the other guy swerves, you benefit most by going straight. If the other guy goes straight, you'd better swerve. If you both go straight, you're both dead, and if you both swerve, you're both... well, chickens.
So with the question of queuing. If everybody's cheating, then we're all worse off, because only the meanest, toughest, elbow-throwingest Korean old ladies are going to get served. By contrast, if everybody queues nicely, it's a perfect setup for cheaters. Justin rejects the British Telecom offer and pulls an end-around by calling Virgin Wireless, which sets us up within ten days. When Justin has no boarding pass for the imminently departing Pittsburgh flight, I bypass the queue to ask at the counter for a thirty-second print job and departing one boarding pass richer. (Hypothetical situation, of course).
Ultimate lesson of the day: in the land of Scottish queuers, the Korea-trained line jumper is king.
Koreans do not believe in lines. Lines exist to keep other people out of the way while you cut around them and do whatever it is they're all waiting in line to do. We have a theory that this dates back to the war - anybody who couldn't throw a few elbows wasn't going to survive - and this is somewhat borne out by the fact that the worst line violators in the country are women over the age of 60. Those women will blow you up. I've seen NFL replays less painful than what one of them did to Justin in a supermarket.
By contrast, the Scots love lining up (or "queuing," as it's called here.) It's reputed to be a national pastime. This may explain why Canadians, many of whom are part Scottish, are famous for polite queuing (side note: the Canadian o, as in "aboot," matches the Scots accent, and I strongly suspect "eh?" is a derivation of the Scottish "aye?", which serves the same grammatical function of asking you to confirm the preceding statement). Ryanair, which we took to Malta, has a no-assigned-seats policy that basically requires you to bullrush the aircraft. In Scotland, it works surprisingly well. In Korea, there would be casualties - except, of course, that boarding already works like this, so maybe they're used to it.
This isn't a perfect system, though. Case in point: I was waiting at a bus stop, and everybody got into a nice straight line. Sounds like a great idea, until you realize that five buses use the same stop. When your bus pulls up, nobody ahead of you is getting on it, so you get out of the line, walk around the line, and get on the bus. The line is entirely superfluous. Or lines get ridiculously long because people will tolerate them. British Telecom told us that if we wanted their internet service, there would be a two week wait before a guy could come out and check our apartment for an activated line, plus a 200 pound fee for line activation if necessary, followed by a six week wait for internet service.
In game theory, economists construct little grids showing what benefits you'll get from an action depending on the other person's move (see a particularly adorable example here). If you think of the Chicken Game, for instance, in which two drivers drive at each other and one of them has to swerve: if the other guy swerves, you benefit most by going straight. If the other guy goes straight, you'd better swerve. If you both go straight, you're both dead, and if you both swerve, you're both... well, chickens.
So with the question of queuing. If everybody's cheating, then we're all worse off, because only the meanest, toughest, elbow-throwingest Korean old ladies are going to get served. By contrast, if everybody queues nicely, it's a perfect setup for cheaters. Justin rejects the British Telecom offer and pulls an end-around by calling Virgin Wireless, which sets us up within ten days. When Justin has no boarding pass for the imminently departing Pittsburgh flight, I bypass the queue to ask at the counter for a thirty-second print job and departing one boarding pass richer. (Hypothetical situation, of course).
Ultimate lesson of the day: in the land of Scottish queuers, the Korea-trained line jumper is king.
25 January 2010
U.S. gives haggis a Burns's Night reprieve?
Tonight will be Burns's Night, an informal holiday celebrating Robert "Rabbie" Burns, Scotland's national poet and by most accounts the greatest poet ever to write in Scots. We celebrated Burns's Night a day early with some traditional haggis, neeps, and tatties, augmented by lots more non-traditional fare at an international potluck.
The haggis is very much the centerpiece of a traditional Burns Supper: the evening turns on the presentation of the haggis to a recitation of Burns's "Address to a Haggis." So it's fitting that, according to this BBC story, the US has chosen today to announce plans to reduce import restrictions on meats that prevent the importation of haggis to the US.
The article overstates its case a bit--haggis isn't actually banned in the US, you're just not allowed to import it--but it's still a neat Burns's Night treat.
The haggis is very much the centerpiece of a traditional Burns Supper: the evening turns on the presentation of the haggis to a recitation of Burns's "Address to a Haggis." So it's fitting that, according to this BBC story, the US has chosen today to announce plans to reduce import restrictions on meats that prevent the importation of haggis to the US.
The article overstates its case a bit--haggis isn't actually banned in the US, you're just not allowed to import it--but it's still a neat Burns's Night treat.
A Return to Tea?
According to this article (via Fark), for a long time it has looked like Britain, like many other longstanding tea cultures (ex, Korea, Japan, China), was going to succumb to the onslaught of coffee.
But the recession has reminded many folks here in Scotland of something Nana and I have long since loved about tea: compared to coffee, it's incredibly cheap. (It's also a lot healthier, though of course it doesn't pack quite the same punch.)
But the recession has reminded many folks here in Scotland of something Nana and I have long since loved about tea: compared to coffee, it's incredibly cheap. (It's also a lot healthier, though of course it doesn't pack quite the same punch.)
04 January 2010
Hogmanay terror obliterates town!
The other day, Nana and I were just enjoying a simple walk through an ice-bound Holyrood Park . . .
. . . when, coming to the end of our trail, we spotted what looked like a giant green pod of some sort. (And I had a sheep in my pocket, for some reason.)
A crowd began to gather. Then, after a little while, there appeared a gaggle of oddly dressed artistes (in ankle warmers!) who performed some strange ritual before opening the egg.
At first, the blue giant was calm--drowsy, even. That is, until some guy who looked like a bearded Screech from Saved by the Bell donned a red wizard's robe and sang what I can only assume was a Gaelic love song to the beast.
When the song ended, the blue giant broke free!
Although some of the bystanders seemed oddly sanguine about his rampage up the Royal Mile.
Seriously, though, the Big Man was just a small piece of the three-day New Year's celebration known in Scotland as Hogmanay. Hogmanay has become a kind of blanket term for a variety of traditional winter solstice celebrations, and different towns throughout Scotland celebrate Hogmanay in a variety of ways.
Edinburgh celebrates the holiday with a festival (something had to fill in the three-week gap between Christmas and Burns Night!) that includes a street party, a giant rendition of Auld Lang Syne (a poem written by none other than Rabbie Burns himself), an enormous blue puppet walking up the Royal Mile for some reason, ceilidh dances, copious amounts of food and drink, and of course lots and lots of fire. All in all, a fitting way for a city like Edinburgh to ring in the New Year!
. . . when, coming to the end of our trail, we spotted what looked like a giant green pod of some sort. (And I had a sheep in my pocket, for some reason.)
A crowd began to gather. Then, after a little while, there appeared a gaggle of oddly dressed artistes (in ankle warmers!) who performed some strange ritual before opening the egg.
At first, the blue giant was calm--drowsy, even. That is, until some guy who looked like a bearded Screech from Saved by the Bell donned a red wizard's robe and sang what I can only assume was a Gaelic love song to the beast.
When the song ended, the blue giant broke free!
Although some of the bystanders seemed oddly sanguine about his rampage up the Royal Mile.
Seriously, though, the Big Man was just a small piece of the three-day New Year's celebration known in Scotland as Hogmanay. Hogmanay has become a kind of blanket term for a variety of traditional winter solstice celebrations, and different towns throughout Scotland celebrate Hogmanay in a variety of ways.
Edinburgh celebrates the holiday with a festival (something had to fill in the three-week gap between Christmas and Burns Night!) that includes a street party, a giant rendition of Auld Lang Syne (a poem written by none other than Rabbie Burns himself), an enormous blue puppet walking up the Royal Mile for some reason, ceilidh dances, copious amounts of food and drink, and of course lots and lots of fire. All in all, a fitting way for a city like Edinburgh to ring in the New Year!
30 November 2009
Happy St. Andrew's Day! And, Flags!
Today is St. Andrew's Day, the national holiday of Scotland. St. Andrew's Day is celebrated on the Catholic feast day of St. Andrew, the patron saint of Scotland (and Greece, Romania, Russia, and Constantinople).
St. Andrew's Day in its current form is relatively new, dating back to 2007, when the Scottish Parliament declared St. Andrew's Day a non-mandatory bank holiday. The three-day weekend has quickly bloomed into the commercial kickoff of the Christmas season.
Of course Edinburgh wasn't about to let an opportunity for another festival pass. So now, all the Christmas hoopla launches with fireworks the Thursday before St. Andrew's Day weekend and keeps rolling right through Hogmanay, the Scottish New Year's festival. The festivities include a carnival with rides, a German Christmas market, a Highland Christmas market, and various concerts, mostly centered on Prince's Street Gardens.
St. Andrew's Day weekend has an added bonus: all Historical Scotland attractions are open to the public free of charge.
However, St. Andrew's Day is not without its controversy: the resolution that established St. Andrew's Day as a bank holiday also required that all public buildings fly the Saltire, aka the Cross of St. Andrew, aka the Scottish national flag.
Buildings with more than one flagpole are required to fly the Union Jack as well.
Hey--did you notice? The Union Jack is a combination of St. Andrew's Cross (Scotland), St. George's Cross (England), and St. Patrick's Cross (Ireland). Here's a diagram from Wikipedia.
Clockwise from top-left: St. Andrew's Cross (Scotland), St. George's Cross (England), St. Patrick's Cross (Ireland), Flag of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and (Northern) Ireland (after 1801), English-version Flag of Great Britain (1707-1801), unofficial Scottish version of the Flag of Great Britatin (1707-1801).
(On a side note--what about Wales?)
Anyway, the St. Andrew's Day flag controversy comes from the fact that all government and military buildings in Scotland are required by law to fly the Union Jack at all times, and only fly the Saltire if they have a second flagpole. This includes Edinburgh Castle (which is both a royal residence and a regimental headquarters), seen as a quintessential symbol of Scottishness, but cursed with only one flagpole.
The tin-foil hat says that's by design, so that the Union Jack flies from the highest point in Edinburgh throughout the year--and also from Holyrood Palace, overlooking the Scottish Parliament. Some have tried to take matters into their own hands by raising the Saltire at the Castle--none have succeeded. Instead, the Scots have had to content themselves with celebrating St. Andrew's Day as they celebrate their other national holiday: with haggis, neeps, tatties, and ceilidh dancing.
We're going to a ceilidh tonight, in fact. Stay tuned for pictures!
St. Andrew's Day in its current form is relatively new, dating back to 2007, when the Scottish Parliament declared St. Andrew's Day a non-mandatory bank holiday. The three-day weekend has quickly bloomed into the commercial kickoff of the Christmas season.
Of course Edinburgh wasn't about to let an opportunity for another festival pass. So now, all the Christmas hoopla launches with fireworks the Thursday before St. Andrew's Day weekend and keeps rolling right through Hogmanay, the Scottish New Year's festival. The festivities include a carnival with rides, a German Christmas market, a Highland Christmas market, and various concerts, mostly centered on Prince's Street Gardens.
St. Andrew's Day weekend has an added bonus: all Historical Scotland attractions are open to the public free of charge.
However, St. Andrew's Day is not without its controversy: the resolution that established St. Andrew's Day as a bank holiday also required that all public buildings fly the Saltire, aka the Cross of St. Andrew, aka the Scottish national flag.
Buildings with more than one flagpole are required to fly the Union Jack as well.
Hey--did you notice? The Union Jack is a combination of St. Andrew's Cross (Scotland), St. George's Cross (England), and St. Patrick's Cross (Ireland). Here's a diagram from Wikipedia.
Clockwise from top-left: St. Andrew's Cross (Scotland), St. George's Cross (England), St. Patrick's Cross (Ireland), Flag of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and (Northern) Ireland (after 1801), English-version Flag of Great Britain (1707-1801), unofficial Scottish version of the Flag of Great Britatin (1707-1801).(On a side note--what about Wales?)
Anyway, the St. Andrew's Day flag controversy comes from the fact that all government and military buildings in Scotland are required by law to fly the Union Jack at all times, and only fly the Saltire if they have a second flagpole. This includes Edinburgh Castle (which is both a royal residence and a regimental headquarters), seen as a quintessential symbol of Scottishness, but cursed with only one flagpole.
The tin-foil hat says that's by design, so that the Union Jack flies from the highest point in Edinburgh throughout the year--and also from Holyrood Palace, overlooking the Scottish Parliament. Some have tried to take matters into their own hands by raising the Saltire at the Castle--none have succeeded. Instead, the Scots have had to content themselves with celebrating St. Andrew's Day as they celebrate their other national holiday: with haggis, neeps, tatties, and ceilidh dancing.
We're going to a ceilidh tonight, in fact. Stay tuned for pictures!
17 November 2009
Sartorial Mythbusting, Part 1: Clan Tartans
When you think of Scotland, you probably think of many things. Haggis. Bagpipes. Rain. But I'm going to go out on a limb here and guess that your most thought-of Scotland image is tartan, often also called plaid.
Ah, the tartan! What a glorious tradition, each clan to its own tartan! Imagine them running over Culloden Field in their Highland Charge, displaying to the enemy which families were arrayed against them! How tragic it was when the plaids were banned for most of the rest of the 18th century!
Except not. Time for some sartorial (i.e., clothing) mythbusting!
Here is a portrait of John Campbell, from 1749:
We have a problem here. The Campbell plaid, as we know it, is predominantly blue, green, and white, and looks like this.
Ah, the tartan! What a glorious tradition, each clan to its own tartan! Imagine them running over Culloden Field in their Highland Charge, displaying to the enemy which families were arrayed against them! How tragic it was when the plaids were banned for most of the rest of the 18th century!
Except not. Time for some sartorial (i.e., clothing) mythbusting!
Here is a portrait of John Campbell, from 1749:
We have a problem here. The Campbell plaid, as we know it, is predominantly blue, green, and white, and looks like this.So he is definitely not wearing Campbell plaid. (In fact, he's wearing two plaids that aren't "Campbell plaid" – your eyes may be watering too hard from that outfit to tell, but those tartans are different top and bottom). Why not?
Campbell plaids did not exist in the 18th century. Neither did Stewart plaids, or MacDonald plaids, or MacIntosh plaids, or any other form of official standardized clan plaids. There were very likely regional variations caused by the availabilities of dyes and local weaving techniques, but the official tartans as we know them are a product of the early 19th century, specifically of a firm called Wilson's of Bannockburn.
At that time, Scotland was hot. Highland regiments won renown for their fighting against Napoleon. Sir Walter Scott's 1814 book Waverley romanticized the '45 uprising like dang and whoa. King George IV even came to Scotland in 1822, and wore tartan! Wilson's knew a good trend when they saw it, and began weaving like crazy on those newfangled industrial looms. This, by the way, is another nail in the coffin for the "plaids as traditional Highland attire" argument – the plaids we see today are completely beyond the capacity of a Highland homespinner, both in weaving and dyeing. (Want to try some virtual weaving yourself? See links below!)
Soon, Wilson's's ('s's's's) tartans were flying off the shelves. To keep track of all the patterns, or perhaps to simply merchandise them better, the tartans were given clan names. The final capping touch on this was the forgery of the Vestiarium Scoticum (a book, and not a skin condition, although it sounds like one) by John Sobieski Stuart and Charles Edward Stuart, two brothers who claimed to be the descendents of Bonnie Prince Charlie. The book, which they said came from an old manuscript, claimed to lay out pre-Culloden tartans by clan. As fake royals trying to bond with the local population and score some freebies like room and board, the Sobieski Stuarts probably claimed this faux sartorial (word of the day!) expertise to shore up their Scottish street cred.
Need more evidence? Look at the 1746 David Morier painting of Culloden, in which the Scots clearly are not wearing organized plaids. The tartans shown also do not align to the 19th century plaids assigned to the clans we know were at the battle. (There are also some more amazingly eyewatering tartan-on-tartan outfits here – I'm surprised the Hanoverian side could see to aim their muskets.) Eyewitness accounts of the battle support the painting as well. The Jacobites were distinguished by white bonnets, or the berets with white bows shown in the painting. After the battle was lost, the vanquished frequently ditched the bonnet to pass for Royalists. Clearly, this would not have worked if the other 8/10ths of your outfit screamed "Member of a Jacobite Clan."
Some people don't deal well with this revelation. My professor recounted giving a presentation on the above portrait of Campbell and receiving a question from a man who wanted to point out to her that it couldn't be John Campbell, since it wasn't a Campbell plaid. She explained what I've just gone over here – that the "Campbell plaid" is 19th century construction, etc., etc., and he nodded and nodded, and when she finished, he said, "I understand what you're saying, Professor, but that's not a Campbell plaid." The tourist industry also is very fond of the tartan system, as it enables them to sell mass quantities to Scottish diaspora tourists seeking a bit of heritage to take back. (Which is completely fine with me - the tartan can still connect you to Scottish heritage, or to other wearers, or can just look fun, regardless of what year it was designed. I like tartan. I just want to point out its real history.)
Nowadays, tartans are policed very seriously by the Scottish Register of Tartans, which you can think of as a patent bureau for tartan patterns. If you made a tartan using Tartan Maker or Tartan Designer or Interactive Weaver (go on, it's a hoot) or another progam, I'm sorry to say you can't just declare it your tartan and start making kilts. You must submit it (and pay a fee), and have your submission approved as different enough from all existing tartans to justify its own registration. With everyone from Alberta to Zambia getting in on the act, you can imagine things get tighter every year.
By "policed," though, I don't mean that people will come and tear a tartan off you if they don't you deserve it. Mostly it relates to manufacture and naming rights. People "in the know" would frown on wearing the royal family's three Balmoral tartans if you're not actually a royal (they won't even manufacture them for you in the UK), but tartan-wearing is basically self-policing. If you want to wear one just because you like it, I don't think people would mind. Just don't lie and say you're their long-lost cousin
Coming up next time: the "banning" of the Tartans, and what is a plaid?
14 November 2009
Slate on Bagpipes at (Military) Funerals
Slate has an interesting article up on the use of bagpipes (specifically of the Highland variety) at military funerals, occasioned by the recent tragedy at Fort Hood.
According to the article, it isn't that pipes are particularly common at military funerals--they're common at funerals in general, sometimes just for aesthetic reasons, and sometimes because of a family connection to Scotland or Ireland.
It's also interesting to note that there isn't really anything particularly Scottish about bagpipes. As this list shows, bagpipes were a pretty common folk instrument throughout Europe and the Middle East, especially in the medieval period. In modern times, they've come to be associated with Scotland, and most of the older varieties have died out or been replaced by the Great Highland Pipes (best for sheer volume, and what most people in the US mean when they say "bagpipes") and the Irish uilleann pipes (best for range and precision).
Anyway, go and read the article--it's worth a look. And the Jacobites make a cameo! As if you haven't already heard enough of him here, here, here, and again, in a few days, when we get around to posting about Lindisfarne Castle.
According to the article, it isn't that pipes are particularly common at military funerals--they're common at funerals in general, sometimes just for aesthetic reasons, and sometimes because of a family connection to Scotland or Ireland.
It's also interesting to note that there isn't really anything particularly Scottish about bagpipes. As this list shows, bagpipes were a pretty common folk instrument throughout Europe and the Middle East, especially in the medieval period. In modern times, they've come to be associated with Scotland, and most of the older varieties have died out or been replaced by the Great Highland Pipes (best for sheer volume, and what most people in the US mean when they say "bagpipes") and the Irish uilleann pipes (best for range and precision).
Anyway, go and read the article--it's worth a look. And the Jacobites make a cameo! As if you haven't already heard enough of him here, here, here, and again, in a few days, when we get around to posting about Lindisfarne Castle.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
